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AUTHOR'S EDITION 


WORKS OF 
ANTHONY HOPE 

With Preface and Notes 
by the Author, and 
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“ Who is more powerful — except Cccsar himself 

Page 102 


THE KING’S 4 
4 4 MIRROR 


A NOVEL 


By ANTHONY HOPE 


ILLUSTRATED 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
NEW YORK 




TZ3 


THE LIBRARY OF 1 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

OCT 3 1903 

Copyright Entry 

0 T " 

CUSS 0U XXo. Ne. 

U- Q t % ! 

COPY A. 


Copyright, 1898, 1899, 1902, by 
ANTHONY HOPE HAWKINS 


All rights reserved 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 


I. 

A Pious Hyperbole 

. 


. 1 

II. 

A Bird Without Wings 



. 11 

III. 

Some Secret Opinions 



. 22 

IV. 

Two of My Makers 



. 34 

V. 

Something About Victoria 



. 47 

VI. 

A Student of Love Affairs 



. 60 

VII. 

Things Not to be Noticed 



. 73 

VIII. 

Destiny in a Pinafore . 



. 84 

IX. 

Just what Would Happen 



. 96 

X. 

Of a Political Appointment 



. 109 

XI. 

An Act of Abdication . 



. 122 

XII. 

King at a Price . 



. 136 

XIII. 

I Promise not to Laugh 



. 151 

XIV. 

Pleasure Takes Leave to Protest 

. 165 

XV. 

The Hair-dresser Waits 



. 179 

XVI. 

A Chase of Two Phantoms 



. 193 

XVII. 

Decidedly Medleval 



. 207 

XVIII. 

William Adolphus Hits the 

Mark 

. 220 

XIX. 

Great Promotion . 



. 234 

XX. 

An Interesting Parallel 



. 249 

XXI. 

On the Art of Falling Soft 


. 262 

XXII. 

Ut Puto, Vestis Fio 

. 


. 276 

XXIII. 

A Paradox of Sensibility 

# 


. 291 


V 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXIV. What a Question ! 

XXV. A Smack of Repetition 
XXVI. The Secret of the Countess 
XXVII. Of Grazes on the Knee 
XXVIII. As Bederhof Arranged . 


. 305 
. 319 
. 335 
. 350 
. 364 


vi 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


CHAPTER I 
A PIOUS HYPERBOLE 

Before my coronation there was no event in child- 
hood that impressed itself on my memory with 
marked or singular distinction. My father's death, 
the result of a chill contracted during a hunting 
excursion, meant no more to me than a week of 
rooms gloomy and games forbidden ; the decease of 
King Augustin, my uncle, appeared at the first in- 
stant of even less importance. I recollect the news 
coming. The King, having been always in frail 
health, had never married ; seeing clearly but not 
far, he was a sad man : the fate that struck down 
his brother increased his natural melancholy; he 
became almost a recluse, withdrew himself from the 
capital to a retired residence, and henceforward was 
little more than a name in which Prince von Ham- 
merfeldt conducted the business of the country. 
Now and then my mother visited him; once she 
brought back to me a letter from him, little of which 
I understood then, although I have since read often 
the touching words of his message. When he died, 
there was the same gloom as when my father left 
us ; but it seemed to me that I was treated a little 
differently; the servants stared at me, my mother 
would look long at me with a half-admiring, half- 
amused expression, and Victoria let me have all her 
l 


THE KING S MIRROR 


toys. In Baroness von Krakenstein (or Krak, as 
we called her) alone, there was no difference ; yet 
the explanation came from her, for when that even- 
ing I reached out my little hand and snatched a bit 
of cake from the dish, Krak caught my wrist, say- 
ing gravely, 

“ Kings must not snatch, Augustin.” 

“Victoria, what do you get when you are a 
king ? ” I asked my sister that night. I was hardly 
eight, she nearing ten, and her worldly wisdom 
seemed great. 

“ Oh, you have just what you want, and do 
what you like, and kill people that you don’t like,” 
said she. “ Don’t you remember the Arabian 
Nights ? ” 

“Could I kill Krak?” I asked, choosing a con- 
crete and tempting illustration of despotic power. 

Victoria was puzzled. 

“ She’d have to do something first, I suppose,” 
she answered vaguely. “ I should have been queen 
if you hadn’t been born, Augustin.” Her tone now 
became rather plaintive. 

“ But nobody has a queen if they can get a 
king,” said I serenely. 

It is the coronation day that stands out in mem- 
ory ; the months that elapsed between my accession 
and that event are merged in a vague dimness. I 
think little difference was made in our household 
while we mourned the dead King. Krak was still 
sharp, imperious, and exacting. She had been my 
mother’s governess, and came with her from Styria. 
I suppose she had learned the necessity of sternness 
from her previous experience with Princess Ger- 
trude, for that lady, my mother, a fair, small, slim 
woman, who preserved her girlishness of appearance 
2 


A PIOUS HYPERBOLE 


till the approach of middle age, was of a strong and 
masterful temper. Only Krak and Hammerfeldt 
had any power over her; Krak’s seemed the result 
of ancient domination, the Prince’s was won by a 
suave and coaxing deference that changed once a 
year or thereabouts to stern and uncompromising 
opposition. But with my early upbringing, and 
with Victoria’s, Hammerfeldt had nothing to do ; 
my mother presided, and Krak executed. The 
spirit of Styria reigned in the nursery, rather than 
the softer code of our more Western country; I 
doubt whether discipline were stricter in any house 
in Forstadt than in the royal palace. 

They roused me at eight on my coronation day. 
My mother herself came to my bedside, and knelt 
down for a few minutes by it. Krak stood in the 
background, grim and gloomy. I was a little fright- 
ened, and asked what was afoot. 

“You’re to be crowned to-day, Augustin,” said 
my mother. “ You must be a good boy.” 

44 Am I to be crowned king, mother ? ” 

“Yes, dear, in the cathedral. Will you be a 
good king ? ” 

44 I’ll be a great king, mother,” said I. The Ara- 
bian Nights were still in my head. 

She laughed and rose to her feet. 

“ Have him ready by ten o’clock, Baroness,” she 
said. “ I must go and have my coffee and then 
dress. And I must see that Victoria is properly 
dressed too.” 

4 4 Are you going to be crowned, mother ? ” I 
asked. 

44 No,” she said. “ I shall be only Princess Hein- 
rich still.” 

I looked at her with curiosity. A king is greater 
3 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


than a princess ; should I be greater than my moth- 
er ? And my mother was greater than Krak ! 
Why, then — but Krak ended my musings by whisk- 
ing me out of bed. 

It was fine fun to ride in the carriage by my 
mother’s side, with Victoria and old Hammerfeldt 
opposite. Hammerfeldt was President of the Coun- 
cil of Regency; but I, knowing nothing of that, 
supposed my mother had asked him into our car- 
riage because he amused us and gave us chocolates. 
My mother was very prettily dressed, and so was 
Victoria. I was very glad that Krak was in an- 
other vehicle. There were crowds of people in the 
street, cheering us more than they ever had before ; 
I was taking off my hat all the time. Once or 
twice I held up my sword for them to see, but 
everybody laughed, and I would not do it any 
more. It was the first time that I had worn a 
sword, but I did not see why they should laugh. 
Victoria laughed most of all; indeed, at last my 
mother scolded her, saying that swords were proper 
for men, and that I should be a man soon. 

We reached the cathedral, and with my hand in 
my mother’s I was led up the nave, till we came to 
the front of the High Altar. There was a very long 
service; I did not care about or heed much of it, 
until the archbishop came down on to the lowest 
step, and my mother took my hand again and led 
me to him, and he put the crown on my head. I 
liked that, and turned round to see if the people 
were looking, and was just going to laugh at Vic- 
toria, when I saw Krak frowning at me ; so I turned 
back and listened to the archbishop. He was a nice 
old man, but I did not understand very much of 
what he said. He talked about my uncle, my 
4 


A PIOUS HYPERBOLE 


father, and the country, and what a king ought to 
do ; at last he leaned down toward me, and told me 
in a low but very distinct voice that henceforward 
God was the only Power above me, and I had no 
lord except the King of kings. He was a very old 
man with white hair, and when he had said this he 
seemed not to be able to go on for a minute. Per- 
haps he was tired, or did not know what to say 
next. Then he laid his hand on my head — they 
had taken the crown off because it was so heavy for 
me — and said in a whisper, “ Poor child ! 5 ’ but then 
he raised his voice, so that it rang all through the 
cathedral, and blessed me. Then my mother made 
me get up and turn and face the people ; she put 
the crown on my head again ; then she knelt and 
kissed my hand. I was very much surprised, and 
I saw Victoria trying hard not to laugh — because 
Krak was just by her. But I didn’t want to laugh ; 
I was too much surprised. 

So far memory carries me; the rest is blurred, 
until I found myself back in our own home divested 
of my military costume, but allowed, as a special 
treat, to have my sword beside me when we sat 
down to tea. We had many good things for tea, 
and even Krak was thawed into amiability; she 
told me that I had behaved very well in the cathe- 
dral, and that I should see the fireworks from the 
window presently. It was winter and soon dark. 
The fireworks began at seven ; I remember them 
very well. Above all, I recollect the fine excite- 
ment of seeing my own name in great long golden 
letters, with a word after them that Krak told me 
I ought to know meant “king,” and was of the 
third declension. “Bex, Regis” said Krak, and 
told poor Victoria to go on. Victoria was far too 
5 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


excited, and Krak said we must both learn it to- 
morrow ; but we were clapping our hands, and 
didn’t pay much heed. Then Hammerfeldt came 
in and held me up at the window for a few min- 
utes, telling me to kiss my hand to the people. I 
did as he told me; then the crowd began to go 
away, and Krak said it was bedtime. 

Now here I might conclude the story of my coro- 
nation day ; but an episode remains trivial and ludi- 
crous enough, yet most firmly embedded in my 
memory. Indeed, it has always for me a signifi- 
cance quite independent of its obvious import ; it 
seems to symbolise the truth which the experience 
of all my life has taught me. Perhaps I throw 
dignity to the winds in recording it ; I intend to 
do the like all through what I write ; for, to my 
thinking, when dignity comes in at the door sin- 
cerity flies out of the window. I was not tired 
after the day, or I was too excited to feel tired. 
My small brain was agog; my little head was 
turned. Amidst all that I did not understand I 
understood enough to conceive that I had become 
a great man. I saw Victoria led off to bed, and 
going meekly. But I was not as Victoria; she 
was not a king as I was ; mother had not knelt 
before her ; the archbishop had not told Victoria 
that she had no lord except the King of kings. 
Perhaps I was hardly to blame when I took his 
words as excluding the domination of women, of 
Krak, even of the mother who had knelt and kissed 
my hand. At any rate, I was in a wilful mood. 
Old Anna, the nurse, had put Victoria to bed, 
and now came through the door that divided our 
rooms and proposed to assist me in my undressing. 
I was wilful and defiant ; I refused most flatly to 
6 


A PIOUS HYPERBOLE 


go to bed. Anna was perplexed ; unquestionably 
a new and reverential air was perceptible in Anna ; 
the detection of it was fuel to my fires of rebellion. 
Anna sent for Krak; in the interval before the 
governess’s arrival I grew uneasy. I half wished I 
had gone to bed quietly, but now I was in for the 
battle. Had there been any meaning in what the 
archbishop said, or had there not? Was it true, 
or had he misled me? I had believed him, and 
was minded to try the issue ; I sat in my chair 
attempting to whistle as my groom had taught me. 
Krak came ; I whistled on ; there was a whispered 
consultation between Anna and Krak ; then Krak 
told me that I was to go to bed, and bade me be- 
gin the process by taking off my shoes. I looked 
at her full and fair in the face. 

44 I won’t till I choose,” said I. 44 I’m king 
now ” ; and then I quoted to Krak what the arch- 
bishop had said. She lifted her hands in amaze- 
ment and wrath. 

44 1 shall have to fetch your mother,” she said. 

44 I’m above my mother ; she knelt to me,” I re- 
torted triumphantly. 

Krak advanced toward me. 

44 Augustin, take off your shoes,” said she. 

I had no love for Krak. Dearest of all gifts of 
sovereignty would be the power of defying Krak. 

44 Do you really want me to take them off?” I 
asked. 

44 This instant,” commanded Krak. 

I do not justify my action; yet, perhaps, the 
archbishop should have been more careful of what 
he said. My answer to Krak was, 44 Take them, 
then.” And I snatched off one of them and threw 
it at Krak. It missed most narrowly the end of 
7 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


her long nose, and lodged, harmlessly enough, on 
Anna’s broad bosom. I sat there exultant, fearful, 
and defiant. 

Krak spoke to Anna in a low whisper ; then they 
both went out, leaving me alone in the big room. 

I grew afraid, partly because I was alone, partly 
for what I had done. I could undress myself, al- 
though I was not, as a rule, allowed to. I tumbled 
quickly out of my clothes, and had just slipped on 
my nightshirt, when the door opened, and my 
mother entered, followed by Krak. My mother 
looked very young and pretty, but she also looked 
severe. 

“ Is this true, Augustin? ” she asked, sitting down 
by the fire. 

“Yes, mother,” said I, arrested in my flight 
toward bed. 

“ You refused to obey the Baroness ? ” 

“ Yes. I’m king now.” 

“ And threw your shoe at her ? ” 

“ The archbishop said ” I began. 

“ Be quiet,” said my mother, and she turned her 
head and listened to Krak, who began to whisper in 
her ear. A moment later she turned to me. 

“You must do as you are told,” she said ; “and 
you must apologise to the Baroness.” 

“ I’d have taken them off if she had asked me,” 
I said, “ but she ordered me.” 

“ She has a right to order you.” 

“Is she God?” I asked, pointing scornfully at 
Krak. Really the archbishop must bear some of 
the responsibility. 

Krak whispered again ; again my mother turned 
to me. 

“ Will you apologise, Augustin ? ” she said. 

8 


A PIOUS HYPERBOLE 


“ No,” said I stubbornly. 

Krak whispered again. I heard my mother say, 
with a little laugh, “ But to-day, Baroness ! ” Then 
she sighed and looked round at me. 

“ Do apologise, Augustin,” said she. 

“ I’ll apologise to you, not to her,” I said. 

She looked at the Baroness, then at me, then 
back to the Baroness ; then she smiled and sighed. 

“ I suppose so. He must learn it. But not 
much to-night, Baroness. Just enough to — to 
show him.” 

Krak came toward me ; a moment later I occu- 
pied a position which, to my lively discomfort, I 
had filled once or twice before in my short life, but 
which I had not supposed that I should fill again 
after what the archbishop had said. I set my teeth 
to endure ; I was full of bewilderment, surprise, and 
anger. The archbishop had played me terribly 
false ; the Arabian Nights were no less delusive. 
Krak was as unmoved and business-like as usual. 
I was determined not to cry — not to-night. I was 
not very hard tried; almost directly my mother 
said, “ That will do.” There was a pause ; no 
doubt Krak’s face expressed a surprised protest. 
“Yes, that’s enough to-day,” said my mother, and 
she added, “ Get into bed, Augustin. You must 
learn to be an obedient boy before you can be a 
good king.” 

The moment I was released I ran and leaped into 
bed, hiding my face under the clothes. I heard 
my mother come and say, “ Won’t you kiss me?” 
but I was very angry; I did not understand why 
they made me a king, and then beat me, because 
I behaved like all the kings I had been told or read 
about. Moreover, I had begun to cry now, and I 
9 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


would have been killed sooner than let Krak see 
that. So presently my mother went away, and 
Krak too. Then Anna came and tried to turn 
down the clothes, but I would not let her. I hung 
on to them hard, for I was still crying. I heard 
Anna sigh, “ Poor dearie! ” then she went away; but 
directly after Victoria’s voice came, saying, “ Anna 
says I may come in with you. May I, please, Au- 
gustin ? ” I let her move the bedclothes and get 
in with me ; and I put my arms round her neck. 
Victoria comforted me as best she could. 

“You’ll be a real king when you grow up,” she 
said. 

A thought struck me — a rapturous thought, born 
of the Arabian Nights. (In the archbishop lay no 
comfort at all.) 

“ Yes,” I cried, “ and then I’ll bastinado Krak ! ” 
With this comforting thought I fell asleep. 

A strange day, this of my coronation, odd to pass 
through, to the highest degree illuminating in ret- 
rospect. I did not live to bastinado Krak ; nor 
would I now had I the power. What they did was 
perhaps a little cruel, a little Styrian, as Victoria and 
I used covertly to say of such harsh measures ; but 
how valuable a lesson on the state and fortune of 
kings ! The King is one, the man another. The 
King is crowned, the man is lashed ; they give us 
greatness in words : in fact, we are our servants’ 
servants. Little as I liked the thing at the time, 
I cannot now regret that I was chastised on my 
coronation day. I was thus put into an attitude 
eminently conducive to the perception of truth, 
and to a realisation of the facts of my position. 
I forgive thee the blows, Krak — Lo, I forgive 
thee ! 


10 


CHAPTER II 


A BIRD WITHOUT WINGS 

A man’s puerilia are to himself not altogether pue- 
rile ; they are parcel of the complex explanation of 
his existent self. He starts, I suppose, as some- 
thing, a very malleable something, ready to be ham- 
mered into the shape that the socket requires. The 
two greatest forces at work on the yielding substance 
are parents and position, with the gardener’s boy 
beneath my window crusts and cuffs, with me at the 
window kingship and Styrian discipline. In the 
latter there was to me nothing strange ; I had grown 
into it from birth. But now it became suddenly 
noticeable, as a thing demanding justification, by 
reason of its patent incongruity with my king- 
ship. I have shown how swiftly and sharply the 
contrast was impressed on me ; if I have not 
made that point, then my story of a nursery tragedy 
is unexcused. I was left wondering what manner 
of king he was who must obey on pain of blows. I 
was very young, and the sense of outrage did not 
last, but the puzzle persisted, and Victoria’s riper 
philosophy was taxed to allay it. W aiting seemed 
the only thing, waiting till I could fling my shoes 
at whom I would, and sit on my throne to behold 
the bastinadoing of Ivrak. My mother told me 
that I must be an obedient boy first. Well and 
good ; but then why make me a king now ? In 
truth I was introduced over-early to the fictions of 
high policy. A king without power seems to a 
11 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


child like a bird without wings ; but a bird without 
wings is a favourite device of statesmanship. 

The matter did not stand even here. My king- 
ship not only lacked the positive advantages with 
which youthful imagination (aided by the arch- 
bishop’s pious hyperbole) had endowed it ; it be- 
came in my eyes the great and fertile source of all 
my discomfort, the parent of every distasteful obli- 
gation, the ground on which all chosen pleasures 
were refused. It was ever 4 ‘ Kings cannot do 
this,” or 4 ‘Kings must do that,” and the “this” 
was always sweet, the “ that ” repellent ; in Krak’s 
hands monarchy became a cross between a tread- 
mill and a strait- waistcoat. “What’s the use of 
being a king? ” I dared once to cry to her. 

“ God did not make you a king for your own 
pleasure,” returned Krak solemnly. I recollect 
thinking that her remark must certainly be true, 
yet wondering whether God quite realised how 
tiresome the position was. 

It may be supposed that I had many advantages 
to counterbalance these evils that pressed so hardly 
on me. I do not recollect being conscious of them. 
Even my occasional parades in public, although they 
tickled my vanity, were spoiled for me by the feel- 
ing that nobody would look at me with admiration, 
envy, or even interest, if he knew the real state of 
the case. I may observe that this reflection has not 
vanished with infancy, but still is apt to assail me. 
Of course I was well fed, well housed, and well, 
though firmly, treated. Alas, what we have not is 
more to us than all we possess. I was thankful 
under protest; prohibitions outweighed privileges. 
I have not the experience necessary for any general- 
isation, but my own childhood was not very happy. 

12 


A BIRD WITHOUT WINGS 


A day comes into my mind almost as clear and 
distinct in memory as my coronation day. I was 
nine years old, and went with my mother to pay a 
visit to a nobleman of high rank. He had just 
married and brought to his house a young American 
lady. We were welcomed, of course, with infinite 
courtesy and deference. Princess Heinrich received 
such tributes well, with a quiet, restrained dignity 
and a lofty graciousness. I was smart in my best 
clothes, a miniature uniform of the Corps of 
Guards, and my hand flew up to my little helmet 
when the Countess curtseyed very low and looked 
at me with merry, sparkling blue eyes. Her hus- 
band was a tall, good-looking fellow, stiff in back 
and manner, as are most of our folk, but honest 
and good-hearted, as are most of them also. But 
I paid little heed to him ; the laughing Countess 
engrossed me, and I found myself smiling at her. 
Her eyes seemed to enter into confidence with me, 
and I knew she was rather sorry for me. The day 
was damp and chill, and, although my mother 
would not refuse to go round the Count’s gardens, 
of which he was proud, she declared that the walk 
was not safe for me, and asked the Countess to take 
care of me. So she and I were left alone. I stood 
rather shyly by the table, fingering the helmet that 
my mother had told me to take off; presently 
looking up, I saw her merry eyes on me. 

44 Sire,” said the Countess, 44 if you sat down I 
would.” 

I bowed and sought a chair; there was a high 
wooden arm-chair, and I clambered into it ; my 
legs dangled in mid-air. Another little laugh came 
from the Countess as she brought me a high foot- 
stool. I tried to jump down in time to stop her, 
2 13 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


but she would not let me. Then she knelt herself 
on the stool, her knees by my feet. 

“ What beautiful military boots ! ” she said. 

I looked down listlessly at my shining toes. She 
clasped her hands, crying : 

“ You’re a beautiful little king! Oh, isn’t it 
lovely to be a king ! ” 

I looked at her doubtfully ; her pretty face was 
quite close to mine. Somehow I wanted very 
much to put my arms round her neck, but I felt 
sure that kings did not hug countesses. Imagine 
Krak’s verdict on such a notion ! 

“I’m not a king for my own pleasure,” said I, 
regarding my hostess gravely. “ I am a king for 
the good of my people.” 

She drew a long breath and whispered in Eng- 
lish (I did not understand then, but the sound of 
the words stayed with me), “ Poor little mite ! ” 
Then she said : 

“ But don’t you have a lovely time ? ” 

I felt that I was becoming rather red, and I 
knew that the tears were not far from my eyes. 

“ No,” said I, “not very.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ They — they don’t let me do any of the things 
I want to.” 

“You shall do anything you want to here,” she 
whispered. I was very much surprised to see that 
her bright eyes had grown a little clouded. 

“ W e’ve no kings in my country,” she said, tak- 
ing my hand in hers. 

“ Oh, I wish I’d been born there,” said I; then 
we looked at one another for a minute, and I put 
out my arms and took hold of her, and drew her 
face near mine. With a little gulp in her throat 
14 


A BIRD WITHOUT WINGS 


she sprang up, caught me in her arms, kissed me a 
dozen times, and threw herself into the big chair 
with me on her knees. Now I was crying, and yet 
half laughing ; so I believe was she. W e did not 
say very much more to one another. Soon I 
stopped crying; she looked at me, and we both 
laughed. 

“ What babies we are, your Majesty ! ” said she. 

“ They might let me do a little more, mightn’t 
they ? It’s all Krak, you know. Mother wouldn’t 
be half so bad without Krak.” 

“ Oh, my dear, and is Krak so horrid ? ” 

“ Horrid,” said I, with grave emphasis. 

The Countess kissed me again. 

“You’ll grow up soon,” she said. Somehow the 
assurance comforted me more from her lips than 
from Victoria’s. “ Will you be nice to me when 
you grow up ? ” 

“ I shall always be very, very fond of you,” 
said I. 

She laughed a funny little laugh, and then 
sighed. 

“ If God sends me a little son, I hope he’ll be 
like you,” she whispered, with her cheek against 
mine. 

“ He won’t be a king,” said I with a sigh of 
envy. 

“You poor dear ! ” cooed she. 

Then came my mother’s clear, high-bred voice, 
just outside the door, descanting on the beauty of 
the Count’s parterres and orangery. A swift warn- 
ing glance flew from me to my hostess. I scam- 
pered off my perch, and she stood up in respectful 
readiness for the entrance of Princess Heinrich. 

“ Don’t tell mother,” I whispered urgently. 

15 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


“ Not a word ! ” 

“ Whatever they do to you ? ” 

“ No, whatever they do to me ! ” 

My mother was in the room, the Count holding 
the door for her and closing it as she passed 
through. I felt her glance rest on me for a mo- 
ment; then she turned to the Countess and ex- 
pressed all proper admiration of the gardens, the 
house, and the whole demesne. 

“ And I hope Augustin has been a good boy ? ” 
she ended. 

“ The King has been very good, madame,” re- 
turned the Countess. Then she looked in an in- 
quiring way at her husband, as though she did not 
quite know whether she were right or not, and 
with a bright blush added, 46 If you would let him 
come again some day, madame ! ” 

My mother smiled quite graciously. 

“You mustn’t leave me out of the invitation,” 
she said. “We will both come, won’t we, Au- 
gustin ? ” 

“ Yes, please, mother,” said I, relapsed into shy- 
ness and in great fear lest our doings should be dis- 
covered. 

“ Say good-bye now,” commanded the Princess. 

I should have liked to kiss the Countess again, 
but such an act would have risked a betrayal. Our 
adieu was made in proper form, the Countess ac- 
companying us to the door. There we left her 
curtseying, while the Count handed my mother 
into the carriage. I looked round, and the Count- 
ess blew me a surreptitious kiss. 

When we had driven a little way, my mother 
said : 

“ Do you like the Countess von Sempach ? ” 

16 


A BIRD WITHOUT WINGS 


“Yes, very much.” 

“ She was kind to you? ” 

“Very, mother.” 

“ Then why have you been crying, Augustin? ” 

“I haven’t been crying,” said I. The lie was 
needful to my compact with the Countess; my 
honour was rooted in dishonour. 

“ Yes, you have,” said she, but not quite in the 
accusing tones that generally marked the detection 
of falsehood. She seemed to look at me more in 
curiosity than in anger. Then she bent down 
toward me. “ What did you talk about ? ” she 
asked. 

“Nothing very particular, mother. She asked 
me if I liked being king.” 

“And what did you say? ” 

“ I said I liked it pretty well.” 

My mother made no answer. I stole a look at 
her handsome clean-cut features ; she was frowning 
a little. 

“ I didn’t tell her much,” said I, aiming at pro- 
pitiation. 

“ Much of what? ” came sharply, but not un- 
kindly. Yet the question posed me. 

“Oh, I don’t know!” I murmured forlornly; 
and I was surprised when she turned and kissed 
me, saying : 

“We all love you, Augustin ; but you have to 
be king, and you must learn how.” 

“ Yes,” I assented. The thing was quite inevi- 
table ; I knew that. 

Silence followed for a little while. Then my 
mother said ; 

“When you’re ten you shall have a tutor, and 
your own servants, Augustin.” 

17 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


Hastily I counted the months. There were 
nine ; but what did the proposal mean ? Was I 
to be a free man then ? 

“ And we women will leave you alone,” my 
mother went on. She kissed me again, adding, 
“You don’t like us, do you? ” 

“I like you, mother,” I said gravely, “at least gen- 
erally — not when you let Kr — the Baroness ” 

“Never mind the Baroness,” she interrupted. 
Then she put her arm round my neck and asked 
me in a very low voice, “You didn’t like the 
Countess better than me, did you, Augustin ? ” 

“N — no, mother,” said I, but I was an unac- 
complished hypocrite, and my mother turned away. 
My thoughts were not on her, but on the prospect 
her words had opened to me. 

“ Do you mean that the Baroness won’t be my 
governess any more ? ” 

“ Yes. You’ll have a governor, a tutor.” 

“And shall I ?” 

“ I’ll tell you all about it soon, dear.” 

The rest of our drive was in silence. My mind 
was full to overflowing of impressions, hopes, and 
wonders ; my mother’s gaze was fixed on the win- 
dows of the carriage. 

We reached home, and together went up to the 
schoolroom. It was not tea-time yet, and lesson- 
books were on the table. Krak sat beside it, 
grave, grim, and gray. Victoria was opposite to 
her. Victoria was crying. Past experience en- 
lightened me ; I knew exactly what had hap- 
pened ; Victoria had a delightfully unimpression- 
able soul; no rebuke from Krak brought her to 
tears ; Krak had been rapping her knuckles, and 
her tears were an honest tribute to pain, with no 
18 


A BIRD WITHOUT WINGS 


nonsense of merely wounded sensibility about them. 
My mother went up and whispered to Krak. Krak 
had, of course, risen, and stood now listening with 
a heavy frown. My mother drew herself up 
proudly ; she seemed to brace herself for an effort ; 
I heard nothing except “ I think you should con- 
sult me,” but our quick children’s eyes appre- 
hended the meaning of the scene. Krak was being 
bearded. There was no doubt of it ; for presently 
Krak bowed her head in a jerky unwilling nod and 
walked out of the room. My mother stood still 
for a moment with a vivid red colour in her cheeks. 
Then she walked across to Victoria, lifted one of 
her hands from the table, and kissed it. 

“ You’re going to have tea with me to-day, 
children,” said she, “ and we’ll play games after- 
ward. Augustin shall play at not being a king.” 

I remember well the tea we had and the games 
that followed, wherein we all played at being what 
we were not, and for an evening cheated fate of its 
dues. My mother was merriest, for over Victoria 
and myself there hung a veil of unreality, a con- 
sciousness that indeed we played and set aside for 
an hour only the obstinate claims of the actual. 
But we were all merry ; and when we parted — for 
my mother had a dinner-party — we both kissed her 
heartily ; me she kissed often. I thought that she 
wanted to ask me again whether I liked the 
Countess better than her, but was afraid to risk 
the question. What I wanted to say was that I 
liked none better if she would be always what she 
was this evening ; but I found no skill adequate to 
a declaration of affection so conditional. It would 
be to make a market of my kisses, and I had not 
yet come to the age for such bargains. 

19 


THE KING S MIRROR 


Then we were left alone, Victoria and I, to sit 
together for a while in the dusk ; and, sitting 
there, we totted up that day’s gains. They were 
uncertain, yet seemed great. All that had passed 
I told Victoria, save what in loyalty to my countess 
I might not ; Victoria imparted to me the story of 
the knuckle-rapping. For her an added joy lay in 
the fact that on this occasion, if ever, she had 
deserved the affliction ; she had been gloriously 
naughty, and gloried in it now ; did not her sinful- 
ness enhance the significance of this revolution? 
So carried away were we by our triumph that now 
again, after a long interval, we allowed our imagina- 
tion to paint royalty in glowing colours, and our 
Arabian Nights and fairy tales seemed at last not 
altogether cunningly wrought deceptions. When 
we had gone to bed, again we met, I creeping into 
her room, and rousing her to ask whether in truth 
a new age had come and the yoke of Krak been 
broken from off our backs. Victoria sat up in bed 
and discussed the problem gravely. For me she 
was sanguine, for herself less so ; for, said she, they 
go on worrying the girls for ever so long. “She 
won’t rap your knuckles any more,” I suggested, 
fastening on a certain and tangible advantage. 
Victoria agreed that in all likelihood her knuckles 
would henceforth be inviolate ; and she did not 
deny such gain as lay there. Thus in the end I 
won her to cheerfulness, and we parted merrily, 
declaring to one another that we were free ; and 1 
knew that in some way the pretty American 
countess had lent a hand to knocking off our 
chains. 

Free ! A wonderful word that, whether you 
use it of a child, a man, a state, a world, an universe ! 

20 


A BIRD WITHOUT WINGS 


That evening we seemed free. In after-days I re- 
ceived from old Hammerfeldt (a great statesman, as 
history will one day allow) some lectures on the little 
pregnant, powerful, empty word. He had some 
right to speak of freedom ; he had seen it fought for 
by Napoleon, praised by Talleyrand, bought by 
Castlereagh, interpreted by Metternich. Should 
he not then know what it was, its value, its po- 
tency, and its sweetness, why men died for it, and 
delicate women who loved them cheered them on? 
Once also in later years a beautiful woman cried to 
me, with white arms outstretched, that to be free 
was life, was all in all, the heart’s one satisfaction. 
Her I pressed, seeking to know wherein lay the 
attraction and allurement that fired her to such 
extravagance. And I told her what the Prince 
had said to me half-way through his pinch of 
snuff. 

“ ‘ Sire,’ said he , 4 to become free — what is it ? It 
is to change your master.’ ” 

The lady let her arms fall to her side, reflected a 
moment, smiled, and said : 

“ The Prince was no fool, sire.” 

As the result of this day that I have described, I 
had become free. I had changed my master. 

We did not, however, pay any more visits to 
the Countess. 


21 


CHAPTER III 


SOME SECRET OPINIONS 

Even such results as might be looked for on Prince 
von Hammerfeldt’s theory of the meaning of free- 
dom were in my case arrested and postponed by a 
very serious illness which attacked me on the thresh- 
old of my eleventh year. We had gone to Schloss 
Artenberg, according to our custom in the summer ; 
it was holiday-time ; Krak was away, the talked- of 
tutor had not arrived. The immediate fruit of this 
temporary emancipation was that I got my feet 
very wet with dabbling about the river, and, being 
under no sterner control than Victoria’s, lingered 
long in this condition. Next day I was kept in 
bed, and Victoria was in sore disgrace. To be brief, 
the mischief attacked my lungs. Soon I was seri- 
ously ill; a number of grave, black-coated gentle- 
men came and went about the bed on which I lay 
for several weeks. Of this time I have many curi- 
ous impressions; most of them centre round my 
mother. She slept in my room, and I believe 
hardly ever left me. I used to wake from uneasy 
sleep and look across to her bed ; always in a few 
moments she also awoke, came and gave me what 
I needed or asked for, and then would throw a 
dressing-gown round her and walk softly to and 
fro on bare feet, with her long fair hair hanging 
about her shoulders. Her face looked different in 
those days; yet it was not soft as I have seen 
mothers’ faces when their sons lay sick or dead, but 
22 


SOME SECRET OPINIONS 


rather excited, urgent, defiant; the lips were set 
close, and the eyes gleamed. She did not suppli- 
cate God, she fought fate, or, if God and fate be 
one, then it was God whom she fought ; and her 
battle was untiring. I knew from her face that I 
might die, but, so far as I can recall my mood, I 
was more curious about the effect of such an event 
on her and on Victoria than concerning its import 
to myself. I asked her once what would happen 
if I died ; would Victoria be queen ? She forbade 
me to ask the question, but I pressed it, and she 
answered hastily, “Yes, yes, but you won’t die, 
Augustin ; you shan’t die.” I was not allowed to 
see very much of Victoria, but a day or two after- 
ward she sat with me alone for a little while, and I 
told her she would be queen if I died. 

“No. Mother would kill me,” she said with ab- 
solute conviction, in no resentment or fear, but in 
a simple certitude. 

“ Why ? Because you didn’t bring me in when 
I got wet ? ” 

“ Yes — if you died of it,” nodded Victoria. 

“ I don’t believe it,” I said boldly. “ Why 
shouldn’t she like you to be queen ? ” 

‘ 4 She’d hate it, ” said Victoria. 

“ She doesn’t hate me being king.” 

“ You’re a boy.” 

I wondered dimly then, and I have wondered 
since (hardly with more knowledge), what truth or 
whether any lay behind my sister’s words ; she be- 
lieved that, apart from any unjust blame for my 
misfortune, her mother would not willingly see her 
queen. Yet why not? I have a son, and would 
be glad to lay down my burden and kiss his hand 
as he sat on the throne. Are all fathers such as I? 

23 


THE KING S MIRROR 


Nay, and are all mothers such as mine ? I know 
not ; and if there be any position that opens a man’s 
mind to the Socratic wisdom of knowing his own 
ignorance it is that in which my life has been spent. 
But it can hardly be that the curious veiled oppo- 
sition which from about this time began to exist be- 
tween my mother and my sister was altogether sin- 
gular. It was a feeling not inconsistent with duty, 
with punctilious observance, not even with love ; but 
there was in it a sort of jealousy, of assertion and 
counter-assertion. It seemed to me, as I became 
older, to have roots deeper than any accidental oc- 
currence or environment, and, so far, I came near 
to the difficult analysis, to spring from the relation 
of one woman who was slowly but surely being 
forced to lay down what she had prized most in her 
womanhood and another who, slowly but surely, 
also became aware that hers was the prize in her 
turn, and thrust forward a tentative hand to grasp 
it. If I am at all right in this notion, then it is plain 
that feelings slight and faint, although not non-exist- 
ent in ordinary homes, might be intensified in such 
a family as ours, and that a new and great impulse 
would have been imparted to them by such an arti- 
ficial accentuation of the inevitable as must have re- 
sulted had I died, and my sister been called to the 
first place. Among men the cause for such an antag- 
onism is far less powerful ; advancing years take less 
from us and often bring what, to older eyes, is a 
good recompense for lost youth, and seems to youth 
itself more precious than any of its own possessions. 
Our empire, never so brilliant as a woman’s in its 
prime, is of stuff more durable and less shaken by the 
wind of Time’s fluttering garment as he passes by. 

My confessor came to see me sometimes. He 
24 


SOME SECRET OPINIONS 


was an eminent divine, nominated to his post by 
Hammerfeldt in reward, I believe, for some politi- 
cal usefulness. I do not think he saw far into a 
child’s heart, or perhaps I was not like most chil- 
dren. He was always comforting me, telling me 
not to be afraid, that God was merciful, Christ full 
of love, and the saints praying for me. Now I was 
not in the least afraid; I was very curious about 
death — I had never seen it — but I was, as I have 
said, more curious about the world I should leave 
behind. I wanted to know what would be done 
when I was dead, and where I was to be buried. 
Would they fire the guns and parade the troops? 
I did not rise to the conception of myself, not know- 
ing anything of what they did. I thought I should 
be there somehow, looking on from heaven ; and I 
think that I rather enjoyed the prospect. A child 
is very self-centred ; I had no doubt that I should 
be the object of much attention in heaven on that 
day at least. I hinted something of what was pass- 
ing in my mind to the confessor. He did not ap- 
pear to follow the drift of my thoughts. He told 
me again that I had been a good boy, and that now, 
if I prayed and was sorry for my faults, I should be 
happy and should please God. This did not touch 
the point that engaged my attention. I tried 
whether my mother could help me, and I was sur- 
prised when the tears started into her eyes, and she 
bade me, almost roughly, to be quiet. However, 
when Victoria came we talked it all over. Victoria 
cried a little, but she was quite clear as to her own 
position in the procession, and we had rather an 
animated dispute about it. She said also that some 
one in heaven would hold me, and we differed again 
as to the celestial personage in whose lap I was to 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


sit. I am afraid that here our imaginations were 
assisted by the picture of the Holy Family in the 
chapel of the Schloss. 

Not the least tiresome incident of this time was 
that Krak felt it her duty to display affection. I 
do not mean to assert that Krak was not and had 
not been all along fond of me, but in ordinary sea- 
sons to feel affection was with Krak no reason at all 
for displaying it. I do more justice to Krak now ; 
then I did not appreciate the change in her de- 
meanour. On questioning Victoria, I found that 
Krak’s softness did not extend beyond the limits of 
my sick-room ; she had indeed ceased the knuckle- 
rapping, but in its place she curtailed Victorias lib- 
erty and kept her nose to the grindstone pitilessly. 
Why should caresses be confined to the sick, and 
kindness be bought only at the price of threatened 
death ? I was inclined to refuse to kiss Krak, but 
my mother made such a point of compliance that I 
yielded reluctantly. In days of health Krak had 
exacted, morning and evening, a formal and per- 
functory peck; if I gave her no more now she 
looked aggrieved, and my mother distressed. Had 
Krak been possessed by a real penitence, I would 
have opened my arms to her, but I was fully aware 
that her mood was not this ; she merely wanted to 
know that I bore no malice for just discipline, and 
it went to my heart even apparently to concede 
this position. There seemed to me something a 
little unfair in her proceedings ; they were attempts 
to obtain from me admissions that I should have 
repudiated scornfully in hours of health. I knew 
that concessions now would prejudice my future 
liberty. In days to come (supposing I recovered) 
my hostility to Krak would be met by “ Remem- 
26 


SOME SECRET OPINIONS 


ber how kind she was to you when you were ill,” or 
“ Oh, Augustin, you didn’t say that of the Baroness 
when she brought you grapes in your illness.” I 
had plenty of grapes. There are few things which 
human nature resents more than a theft of its griev- 
ances. I was polite to Krak, but I lodged a pro- 
test with my mother and confided a passionate re- 
pudiation of any treaty to Victoria’s sympathetic 
ear. Victoria was all for me ; my mother was stern 
for a moment, and then, smiling faintly, told me to 
try to sleep. 

After several months I took a decided and rapid 
turn toward recovery. This, I think, was the mo- 
ment in which I realised most keenly the fictitious 
importance which my position imparted to me. 
The fashion of everybody’s face was changed; 
mother, doctors, nurses, servants, all wore an air of 
victory. When I was carried out onto the terrace 
at Artenberg, rows of smiling people clapped their 
hands. I felt that I had done something very 
meritorious in getting better, and I hoped secretly 
that they would give me just as fine a procession 
as though I had died. Victoria got hold of a news- 
paper and, before she was detected and silenced, 
read me a sentence : 

“ By the favourable news of the King’s health a 
great weight is lifted from the heart of the country. 
There is not a house that will not be glad to-day.” 
I was pleased at this, although rather surprised. 
Taking thought with myself, I concluded that, al- 
though kingship had hitherto failed to answer my 
private expectations and desires, yet it must be a 
more important thing even in these days than I 
had come to suppose. I put a question to my 
mother, pointing at one of the gardeners. 

27 


THE KING S MIRROR 


“If Josefs son was ill and I was ill,” said I, 
“ which would Josef wish most to get better? ” 

“ The King should be before a thousand sons to 
him,” she answered quickly, and in a proud, agi- 
tated voice. But a moment later she bade me not 
ask foolish questions. I remember that I studied 
her face for some moments. It w T as a little difficult 
to make out how she really felt about me and my 
kingship. 

Convalescence was a pleasant season. Styrian 
discipline was relaxed, and I was allowed to do very 
nearly all that my strength enabled me. Victoria 
shared in the indulgence of this time ; I remember 
we agreed that there would be something to be said 
for never getting quite well. Had getting quite 
well meant going back to Ivrak, I should have felt 
this point of view most strongly, but I was not to 
go back to Krak. There was a talk of a governor, 
of tutors, and masters. Hammerfeldt came down 
and had a long conversation with my mother. She 
came out from the interview with flushed cheeks, 
seeming vexed and perturbed, but she was com- 
posed again when the Prince took his leave, and 
said to him pleasantly: 

“ You mustn’t take him away from me altogether, 
Prince.” 

“We rely on your influence above everything, 
madame,” was Hammerfeldt’ s courtly answer, but 
my mother watched his retreating figure with a 
rather bitter smile. Then she turned to me and 
asked : 

“ Shall you be glad to have tutors ? ” 

Krak was in the distance with Victoria ; my 
mother perceived my eyes travelling in that direc- 
tion. 


28 


SOME SECRET OPINIONS 


“Poor old Baroness! You never liked her, did 
you, Augustin? ” 

“No,” said I, emboldened by this new and confi- 
dential tone. 

“ Try to think more kindly of her,” she advised ; 
but I saw that she was not in the least aggrieved 
at my want of appreciation. “ You don’t like 
women, do you ? ” 

“ Only you, and Victoria, and ” I hesitated. 

“ And Anna ? ” 

“ Oh, of course, old Anna.” 

“ Well, and who else ? ” 

“ The Countess von Sempach,” said I, a little 
timidly. 

“ Haven’t you forgotten her ? ” asked my mother, 
and her smile became less bright. 

“No, I’ve — I’ve not forgotten her,” I murmured. 
“ Does she ever come to see you, mother — here at 
Artenberg, I mean ? ” 

“No, darling,” said my mother. 

I did not pursue the subject. I had eyes good 
enough to see that my dislike for Krak was pleas- 
anter to my mother than my liking for the Countess. 
Women seem to me to have the instinct of monop- 
oly, and not to care for a share of affection. Such, 
at least, was my mother’s temperament, intensified 
no doubt by the circumstance that in future days 
my favour and liking might be matters of import- 
ance. She feared from another woman just what 
she feared from Hammerfeldt, his governor, and his 
tutors ; probably her knowledge of the world made 
her dread another woman more than any number 
of men. She feared even Victoria, her own daugh- 
ter and my sister ; but a woman, very pretty and 
sympathetic, who would be only twenty-eight when 
3 29 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


I was eighteen, must have seemed to her mind the 
greatest peril of all. It is one of the drawbacks of 
conspicuous place that a man’s likings and fancies, 
his merest whims, are invested by others with an 
importance that throws its reflection back on to his 
own mind ; he is able to recollect only with an effort 
that even in his case there are a good many things of 
no importance. I did not make these observations 
as a small boy at Artenberg, but even as a small boy 
I knew very well that the Countess von Sempach 
would not be invited to the Schloss. Nor was she. 
My mother guarded the gate, a jealous angel. 

Thus a pleasant summer passed at Artenberg, 
and in the autumn we returned to Forstadt. Then 
I had my procession, though it seemed scarcely as 
brilliant or interesting as that wherein Victoria had 
held first place while I looked down, a highly satis- 
fied spectator, from heaven. I was eleven years 
old now, and perhaps just the first bloom was wear- 
ing off* the wonder of the world. For recompense, 
but not in full requital, I was more awake to the 
meaning of things around me, and I fear much 
more awake to the importance of myself, Augustin. 
Now I appropriated the cheers at which before I 
had marvelled, and approved the enthusiasm that 
had before amused me. My mother greeted these 
signs in me ; since I was to leave the women she 
would now have me a man as soon as might be; 
besides, she had a woman’s natural impatience for 
my full growth. They love us most as babies, 
when they are Providence to us ; least as boys, when 
we make light of them ; more again when as men 
we return to rule and be ruled, bartering slavery in 
one matter for dominion in another, and working 
out the equilibrium of power. 

30 


SOME SECRET OPINIONS 


But after my procession in the cathedral, when I 
was giving thanks for rescue from a death that had 
never been terrible and now seemed remote and im- 
possible, I saw my countess. She was nearly oppo- 
site to me ; her husband was not with her : he was 
on guard in the nave with his regiment. I wanted 
to make some sign to her, but I had been told that 
everybody would be looking at me. When I was 
crowned, “ everybody ” had meant Krak, and I had 
feared no other eye. I was more self-conscious now. 
I was particularly alert that my mother should ob- 
serve nothing. But the Countess and I exchanged 
a glance ; she nodded cautiously ; almost immedi- 
ately afterward I saw her wipe her eyes. I should 
have liked to talk to her, tell her that I liked being 
a king rather better, and give her the glad tidings 
that the dominion of Krak had ended ; but I got no 
chance of doing anything of the sort, being carried 
away without coming nearer to her. 

Victoria was in very low spirits that evening. It 
had suddenly come upon her that she was to be left 
to endure Krak all alone. Victoria and I were not 
somehow as closely knit together as we had been ; 
she was now thirteen, growing a tall girl, and I was 
but a little boy. Y et our relations were not, I im- 
agine, quite what they would have been between 
brother and sister of such relative ages in an ordi- 
nary case. The authority which elder sisters may 
be seen so readily to ape and assume was never 
claimed by Victoria ; my mother would not have 
endured such presumption for a moment. I think 
Victoria regarded me as a singularly ignorant per- 
son, who yet, by fortune’s freak, was invested with 
a strange importance and the prospect at least of 
great and indefinite power. She therefore took a 
31 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


good deal of pains to make me understand her point 
of view, and to convert me to her opinions. Her 
present argument was that she also ought to be 
relieved from Krak. 

“ Krak was mother’s governess till mother was 
eighteen,” I reminded her. 

“ Awful ! ” groaned poor Victoria. 

“ In fact, mother’s never got rid of Krak at all.” 

“Oh, that’s different. I shouldn’t in the least 
mind keeping Krak as my daughter’s governess,” 
said Victoria. “ That would be rather fun.” 

“ It would be very cruel, considering what Krak 
does,” I objected. 

Dim huntings of the grown-up state were in Vic- 
toria ; she looked a little doubtful. 

“ It wouldn’t matter when she was quite young,” 
she concluded. “ But I’m nearly fourteen. Augus- 
tin, will you ask mother to send Krak away when 
I’m fifteen? ” 

“No,” said I. I had a wholesome dread of 
straining the prerogative. 

“ Then when I’m sixteen ? ” 

“I don’t see what I’ve got to do with it,” said I 
restlessly. 

Victoria became huffy. 

“You’re king, and you could do it if you liked,” 
she said. “ If I was king, I should like to do things 
for people, for my sister anyhow.” She pouted in 
much vexation. 

“Well, perhaps I’ll try some day,” said I re- 
luctantly. 

‘ ‘ Oh, you dear boy ! ” cried Victoria, and she im- 
mediately gave me three kisses. 

I was certainly on my way to learn the secret of 
popularity. In my experience Victoria’s concep- 
32 


SOME SECRET OPINIONS 


tion of the kingly office is a very common one, and 
Victoria’s conduct in view of a refusal to forward 
her views, and of consent, extremely typical. For 
Victoria took no account of my labours, or of the 
probable trouble I should undergo, or of the snub 
I should incur. She called me a dear boy, gave me 
three kisses, and went off to bed in much better 
spirits. And all the while my own secret opinion 
was that Krak was rather good for Victoria. It 
has generally been my secret opinion that people 
had no business to receive the things which they 
have asked me to give to or procure for them. 
When the merits are good the King’s help is un- 
necessary. 


33 


CHAPTER IV 


TWO OF MY MAKERS 

Physically my parents’ child, with my fathers 
tall stature and my mother’s clean-cut features, in- 
tellectually I was more son to Hammerfeldt than 
to any one else. From the day when my brain 
began to develop, his was the preponderating influ- 
ence. I had a governor, a good soldier, General 
von Vohrenlorf ; I had masters; I had one tutor, 
of whom more presently (he for a time bade fair to 
dispute the Prince’s supremacy) ; but above them 
all, moulding me and controlling them, was this 
remarkable old man. At this time he was seventy 
years old ; he had been a soldier till thirty, since 
then a diplomatist and politician. I do not think 
in all things as Hammerfeldt thought ; time moves, 
and each man’s mind has its own cast ; but I will 
make no claim to originality at the cost of depreci- 
ating what I learned from him. He was a solitary 
man ; once he had taken a wife ; she left him after 
two years ; he used to talk about her as though she 
had died at the date when she ran away, without 
bitterness, with an indulgent kindness, with a full 
recognition of her many merits. Those who did 
not know the story little supposed that the lady 
lived still in Paris. His conduct in this matter 
was highly characteristic. Fie regarded passions 
and emotions as things altogether outside and in- 
dependent of the rational man. Their power could 
not be denied in their own sphere and season ; he 
34 


TWO OF MY MAKERS 


admitted that they must be felt — raw feeling was 
their province; he denied that they should affect 
thought or dominate action. In others they were 
his opportunity, in himself a luxury that had never 
been dangerous, or an ailment that was trouble- 
some but never fatal. He was hard on a blunder ; 
as a necessary presupposition to effective negotia- 
tion or business he recognised a binding code of 
honour; he has frequently told me he did not un- 
derstand the theological conception of sin. He 
had eaten of our salt and was our servant; thus he 
would readily have died for us ; but he prayed par- 
don if we asked him to believe in us. “ Conduct,” 
he said once, “ is the outcome of selfishness limited 
by self-conceit.” It was his way so to put things as 
to strip them of friendly, decent covering; had he 
said self-interest limited by self-respect, the axiom 
would have been more accepted and less quoted. 
A superficial person used to exclaim to me, “ And 
yet he is so kind ! ” A man without ideals finds 
kindness the easiest thing in the world. In truth 
he was kind, and in a confidential sort of way that 
seemed to chuckle and wink, saying, “Were rogues 
together ; then I must lend you a hand. ” But he 
could be ruthless also, displaying a curious aloof- 
ness from his fellow-men and an unconsciousness 
of any suffering he might inflict that left mere 
cruelty far behind. If I were making an automa- 
ton king, I would model my machine on the lines 
of Hammerfeldt. He had no belief in a future life, 
but would sometimes trifle whimsically with the 
theory of a transmigration of souls ; he traced all 
beliefs in immortality to the longing of those who 
were unfortunate here (and who did not think him- 
self so?) for a recompense (a revenge he called it) 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


hereafter, and declared transmigration to be at 
once the most ingenious and the most picturesque 
embodiment of this yearning. He played billiards 
extremely well, and excused his skill on the ground 
that he was compelled to pass the time while for- 
eign diplomatists and his own colleagues were mak- 
ing up their mind. I do not think that he ever 
hesitated as to what he had best do. He was of an 
extremely placid and happy temper. As may be 
anticipated from what I have said, he regarded no 
man as utterly lost unless he were completely un- 
der the influence of a woman. 

Yet it was by Hammerfeldt’s will that Geoffrey 
Owen became my daily companion and familiar 
friend. Vohrenlorf visited me once or twice a 
week, and exercised a perfunctory superintendence. 
I had, of course, many masters who came and went 
at appointed hours. Owen lived with me both at 
Forstadt and at Artenberg. At this time he was 
twenty-five ; he excelled my own adult stature, and 
walked with the free grace of a well-bred English 
gentleman. His dark hair grew thick, rising from 
his forehead in a wave ; his face was long and thin, 
and a slight mustache veiled a humorous tender 
mouth. There was about the man a pervading 
sympathy; the desire to be friends was the first 
characteristic of his manner; he was talkative, 
eager, enthusiastic. If a man were good it seemed 
to Owen but natural ; if he were a rogue my tutor 
would set it down to anything in the world save 
his own fault. Everybody could be mended if 
everybody else would try. Thus he brought with 
him into our conservative military court and soci- 
ety the latest breath of generous hope and human 
aspiration that had blown over Oxford. Surely 
36 


TWO OF MY MAKERS 


this was a strange choice of Hammerfeldt’s ! Was 
it made in ignorance of the man, or with some 
idea that my mind should be opened to every vari- 
ety of thought, or in a careless confidence that his 
own influence was beyond shaking, and that Owen’s 
spirit would beat hopelessly against the cage and 
never reach mine in its prison of tradition ? 

A boy that would not have worshipped such a 
man as Geoffrey Owen must have wanted heart and 
fire. I watched him first to see if he could ride ; he 
rode well. When he came he could not fence ; in 
six months he was a good hand with the foils ; phys- 
ical fatigue seemed as unknown to him as mental 
inertia. There was no strain and no cant about him ; 
he smoked hard, drank well after exertion, with 
pleasure always. He delighted to talk to my mother, 
chaffing her Styrian ideas with a graceful deference 
that made her smile. Victoria adored him openly, 
and Krak did not understand why he was not odious. 
Thus he conquered the Court, and I was the first 
of his slaves. It would be tedious to anybody ex- 
cept myself to trace the gradual progress of our four 
years’ intimacy and friendship, of my four years’ 
training and enlightenment. Shall I summarise it 
and say that Owen taught me that there were folks 
outside palaces’, and that the greatness of a station, 
even as of a man, stood not in the multitude of the 
things that it possessed ? The summary is cold and 
colourless ; it smacks of duty, of obligations unwill- 
ingly remembered, of selfish pleasures reluctantly 
foregone. As I became old enough to do more than 
listen entranced to his stories, it seemed to me that 
to be such a man as he was, and not knowing that 
he himself was admired, could be no duty, but only 
a happy dream. There has been in my family, here 
37 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


and there, a vein of fancy, or of mysticism turning 
sometimes to religious fervour, again sometimes to 
soldierly enthusiasm and a knight-errantry in arms, 
the ruin and despair of cool statesmanship. On this 
element Owen’s teaching laid hold and bent it to a 
more modern shape. I would not be a monk or a 
Bayard, but would serve humanity, holding my 
throne a naked trust, whence all but I might reap 
benefit, whereon I must sit burdened with the sor- 
rows of all; and thus to be burdened was my joy. 
With some boys no example could have made such 
ideas acceptable, or won anything but scornful won- 
der for them ; in me they struck answering chords, 
and as I rambled in the woods at Artenberg already 
in my mind I was the perfect king. 

Where would such a mood have led? Where 
would it have ended ? What at the last would have 
been my state and fame ? 

On my fifteenth birthday Prince von Hammer- 
feldt, now in his seventy-fifth year, came from For- 
stadt to Artenberg to offer me congratulations. 
Though a boy may have such thoughts as I have 
tried to describe, for the most part he would be 
flogged to death sooner than utter them ; to the 
Prince above all men an instinct bade me be silent. 
But Owen rose steadily to the old man’s skilful fly ; 
he did not lecture the minister nor preach to him, 
but answered his questions simply and from the 
heart, without show and without disguise. Old 
Hammerfeldt’s face grew into a network of amused 
and tolerant wrinkles. 

“ My dear Mr. Owen,” said he, “ I heard all this 
forty — fifty — years ago. Is it not that Jean Jacques 
has crossed the Channel, turning more sickly on the 
way ? ” 


38 


TWO OF MY MAKERS 

Owen smiled. Mine was the face that grew red 
in resentment, mine the tongue that burned to an- 
swer him. 

“ I know what you mean, sir,” laughed Owen. 
“ Still doesn’t the world go forward? ” 

“ I see no signs of it,” replied Hammerfeldt with 
a pinch of snuff, “unless it be progress to teach 
rogues who aren’t worth a snap to prate of their 
worth. Well, it is pretty enough in you to think as 
you think. What says the King to it ? ” He turned 
to me with a courteous smile, but with an uncere- 
moniously intent gaze in his eyes. 

I had no answer ready ; I was still excited. 

“ I have tried to interest the King in these lines 
of thought,” said Owen. 

“Ah, yes, very proper,” assented Hammerfeldt, 
his eyes still set on my face. “We must have more 
talk about the matter. Princess Heinrich awaits 
me now.” 

Owen and I were left together. He was smiling, 
but rather sadly ; yet he laughed outright when I, 
carried beyond boyish shame by my indignation, 
broke into a tirade and threw back at him some- 
thing of what he had taught me. Suddenly he in- 
terrupted me. 

4 4 Let’s go for a row on the river and have one 
pleasant afternoon,” he said, laying his hand on my 
shoulder. 44 The Prince does not want us any more 
to-day.” 

The afternoon dwells in my memory. In my 
belief Owen’s quick mind had read something of the 
Prince’s purpose ; for he was more demonstrative of 
affection than was his wont. He seemed to eye me 
with a pitiful love that puzzled me ; and he began 
to talk (this also was rare with him) of my special 
39 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


position, how I must be apart from other men, and 
to speculate in seeming idleness on what a place 
such as mine would be to him and make of him. 
All this came between our spurts of rowing or 
among our talk of sport or of flowers as we lay at 
rest under the bank. 

“ If there were two kings here, as there were in 
Sparta ! ” I cried longingly. 

“ There were ephors, too, ” he reminded me, and 
we laughed. Hammerfeldt was our ephor. 

There was a banquet that night. I sat at the 
head of the table, with my mother opposite and 
Hammerfeldt at her right hand. The Prince gave 
my health after dinner, and passed on to a warm 
and eloquent eulogy on those who had trained me. 
In the course of it he dwelt pointedly on the obli- 
gation under which Geoffrey Owen had laid me, and 
of the debt all the nation owed to one who had in- 
spired its king with a liberal culture and a zeal for 
humanity. I could have clapped my hands in de- 
light. I looked at Owen, who sat far down the 
table. His gaze was on Hammerfeldt, and his lips 
were parted in a smile. I did not understand his 
smile, but it persisted all through the Prince’s 
graceful testimony to his services. It was not like 
him to smile with that touch of satire when he was 
praised. But I saw him only for an instant before 
I went to bed, and others were with us, so that I 
could ask no explanation. 

The next morning I rose early, and in glee, for I 
was to go hunting. Owen did not accompany me; 
he was, I understood, to confer with Hammerfeldt. 
My jovial governor Vohrenlorf had charge of me. 
A merry day we had, and good sport ; it was late 
when we came home, and my anxious mother 
40 


TWO OF MY MAKERS 


awaited me in the hall with dry slippers. She had 
a meal spread for me, and herself came to share it. 
Never had I seen her so tender or so gentle. I had 
a splendid hunger, and fell to, babbling of my skill 
with the gun between hearty mouthfuls. 

“ I wish Owen had been there,” I said. 

My mother nodded, but made no answer. 

“ Is the Prince gone ? ” I asked. 

“No, he is here still. He stayed in case you 
should want to see him, Augustin.” 

“ I don’t want him,” said I with a laugh, as I 
pushed my chair back. “ But I was glad he talked 
like that about Owen last night. I think I’ll go 
and see if Owen’s in his room.” I rose and started 
toward the door. 

“Augustin, Mr. Owen is not in his room,” said 
my mother in a strangely timid voice. 

I turned with a start, for I was sensitive to every 
change of tone in her voice. 

“ Do you know where he is ? ” I asked. 

“ He is gone,” said she. 

I did not ask where, nor whether he would re- 
turn. I sat down and looked at her; she came, 
smoothed my hair back from my forehead, and 
kissed me. 

“ I have not sent him away,” she said. “ I 
couldn’t help it. The Prince was resolved, and he 
has power.” 

“ But why ? ” burst from my lips. 

“It is the Prince’s doing, not mine,” she re- 
minded me. “ The Prince is here, Augustin.” 

Why, yes, at least old Hammerfeldt would not 
run away. 

My lips were quivering. I was nearer tears than 
pride had let me be for three years past, grief and 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


anger uniting to make me sore and desolate. There 
seemed a great gap made in my life ; my dearest 
companion was gone, the source of all that most 
held my fancy and filled my mind dried up. But 
before I could speak again a tall, lean figure stood 
in the doorway, helmet in hand. Hammerfeldt was 
there ; he was asking if the King would receive him. 
My mother turned an inquiring glance on me. I 
bowed my head and choked down a sob that was 
in my throat. The old man came near to me and 
stood before me ; there was a little smile on his lips, 
but his old eyes were soft. 

“ Sire,” said he, addressing me with ceremonial 
deference and formality, “her royal highness has 
told you what I have done in your Majesty’s ser- 
vice. I should be happy in your Majesty’s ap- 
proval.” 

I made him no answer. 

“A king, sire,” he went on, “should sip at all 
cups and drain none, know all theories and embrace 
none, learn from all men and be bound to none. 
He may be a pupil, but not a disciple ; a hearer, 
but always a critic ; a friend, never a devotee.” 

I felt my mother’s hand resting on my shoulder ; 
I sat still, looking in the Prince’s eyes. 

“ Mr. Owen has done his work well,” he went on, 
“ but his work is done. Do you ask, sire, why he is 
gone ? I will give you an answer. I, Prince von 
Hammerfeldt, would have Augustin and not Geof- 
frey for my master and my country’s.” 

“ Enough for to-night, Prince. Leave him now,” 
my mother urged in a whisper. 

The Prince bent his head slightly, but remained 
where he stood for a moment longer. Then he 
bowed very low to me, and drew back a step, still 
42 


TWO OF MY MAKERS 


facing me. My mother prompted me with what I 
suppose was the proper formula. 

“You are convinced of the Prince’s wisdom and 
devotion in everything, aren’t you, Augustin?” she 
said. 

“ Yes,” said I. “ Will Mr. Owen write to me ? ” 

“ When your Majesty is older, your Majesty will, 
of course, use your own pleasure as to your corre- 
spondence,” returned Hammerfeldt. 

He waited for a moment longer, and then drew 
back further to the door. 

“ Speak to the Prince, Augustin,” said my 
mother. 

“ I am very grateful to the Prince for his care of 
me,” said I. 

Hammerfeldt came quickly up to me and kissed 
my hand. “ I would make you a true king, sire,” 
said he, and with that he left us. 

So they took my friend from me, and not all the 
kindness with which I was loaded in the time fol- 
lowing his loss lightened the grief of it. Presently 
I came to understand better the meaning of these 
things, and to see that the King might have no 
friend ; for his friend must be an enemy to others, 
perhaps even to the King himself. Shall I now blame 
Hammerfeldt ? I do not know. I was coming to 
the age when impressions sink deep into the mind ; 
and Geoffrey Owen was a man whose mark struck 
very deep. Besides, he had those theories ! It was 
not strange in Hammerfeldt to fear those theories. 
Perhaps he was right ; with his statecraft it may 
well be that he could have done no other than what 
he did. But to my fifteen-years-old thoughts these 
reflections were not present. They had taken my 
friend from me. In my bed that night I wept for 
43 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


him, and my days seemed empty for the want of 
him. It was to me as though he had died, and 
worse than that; there are things as final as death, 
yet lacking death’s gentleness. Such is it to be cut 
off, living friend from living friend, and living heart 
from heart not grown cold in the grave. I have told 
this story of my tutor and myself first, for the in- 
fluence Owen had on me more than for the effect 
wrought in me by the manner in which I lost him. 
There must be none very near me ; it seemed as 
though that stern verdict had been passed. There 
must be a vacant space about the throne. Such 
was Hammerfeldt’s gospel. He knew that he him- 
self soon must leave me ; he would have no suc- 
cessor in power, and none to take a place in love 
that he had neither filled nor suffered to be filled. 
As I wandered, alone now, about the woods at Art- 
enberg I mused on these things, and came to a con- 
clusion rather bitter for one of my years. I would 
tie no more bonds, to have them cut with the sword ; 
if love must be slain, love should be born no more ; 
to begin was but to prepare a sad ending. I would 
not be drawn on to confidence or friendship. I 
chose not to have rather than to lose, not to taste 
rather than leave undrained the cup of sweet inti- 
macy. Thus I armed my boyhood at once against 
grief and love. In all that I did in after days this 
determination was always with me, often overborne 
for the time by emotions and passions, but always 
ready to reassert itself in the first calm hour, and 
relentlessly to fetter me in a prison of my own mak- 
ing. My God, how I have longed for friends some- 
times ! 

Geoffrey Owen I saw but once again. I had 
written twice to him, and received respectful, friend- 
44 


TWO OF MY MAKERS 


ly, brief answers. But the sword had passed through 
his heart also ; he did not respond to my invitation, 
nor show a desire to renew our intimacy. Perhaps 
he was afraid to run the risk ; in truth, even while 
I urged him, I was half afraid myself. Had he 
come again, it would not have been as it had been 
between us. Very likely we both in our hearts 
preferred to rest in memories, not to spoil our 
thoughts by disappointment, to be always to one 
another just what we had been as we rowed to- 
gether that last afternoon at Artenberg, when the 
dim shadow of parting did no more than deepen 
our affection and touch it to a profounder tender- 
ness. 

And that time when I saw him again ? I was 
driving through the gates of an English palace, en- 
circled by a brilliant troop of soldiers, cheered by 
an interested, good-humoured throng. Far back 
in their ranks, but standing out above all heads, I 
saw his face, paler and thinner, more gentle even 
and kindly. He wore a soft hat crushed over his 
forehead ; as I passed he lifted and waved it, smiling 
his old smile at me. I waved my hand, leaning 
forward eagerly ; but I could not stop the proces- 
sion. As soon as I was within I sent an equerry to 
seek him, armed with a description that he could 
not mistake. But Geoffrey Owen was nowhere to 
be found, he had not awaited my messenger. Hav- 
ing signalled a friend’s greeting across the gulf be- 
tween us, he was gone. I could have found him, 
for I knew that he dwelt in London, working, 
writing, awakening hope in many, fear in some, 
thought in all. But I would not seek him out, 
nor compel him to come to me, since he would 
not of his own accord. So he went his way, I 
4 45 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


mine, and I have seen him no more. Yet ever on 
my birthday I drain a cup to him, and none knows 
to whom the King drinks a full glass silently. It 
is my libation on a friendship’s grave. Perhaps it 
would support an interpretation more subtle. For 
when I stood between Owen and Hammerfeldt, 
torn this way and that, uncertain whom I should 
follow through life, was not I the humble transi- 
tory theatre of a great and secular struggle ? It 
seems to me that then the Ideal and the Actual 
joined in battle over me; Hector and Achilles, 
and I the body of Patroclus ! Alas, poor body ! 
Greatly the combatants desire it, little they reck of 
the roughness it suffers in their struggle ! The 
Spirit and the W orld — am I over-fanciful if I seem 
to see them incarnated in Geoffrey Owen and old 
Hammerfeldt ? And victory was with the world. 
Yet the conquered also have before now left their 
mark on lands which they could not hold. 


46 


CHAPTER V 


SOMETHING ABOUT VICTORIA 

I feel that I give involuntarily a darker colour to 
my life than the truth warrants. When we sit 
down and reflect we are apt to become the prey of 
a curious delusion ; pain seems to us the only real- 
ity, pleasure a phantasm or a dream. Yet such 
reality as pain has pleasure shares, and we are in no 
closer touch with eternal truth when we have head- 
aches (or heartaches) than when we are free from 
these afflictions. I wonder sometimes whether a 
false idea of dignity does not mislead us. Would 
we all pose as martyrs ? It is nonsense ; for most 
of us life is a tolerable enough business — if we 
would not think too much about it. W e need not 
pride ourselves on our griefs ; it seems as though 
joy were the higher state because it is the less self- 
conscious and rests in fuller harmony with the 
great order that encircles us. 

As I grew older I gained a new and abiding 
source of pleasure in the contemplation and study 
of my sister Victoria. I have anticipated matters 
a little in telling of my tutor’s departure ; I must 
hark back and pick up the thread of Victoria’s his- 
tory from the time when I was hard on thirteen 
and she near fifteen — the time when she had im- 
plored me to rid her of Krak. I had hated Krak 
with that healthy full-blooded antipathy whose 
faculty one seems to lose in later years. It is a tire- 
some thing to be driven by experience to the dis- 
47 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


covery of some good in everybody ; your fine black 
fades to neutral gray ; often I regret the delightfully 
partial views of earlier days. And so many people 
succeed in preserving them to a green and untutored 
old age ! They are Popes always to their heretics. 
Such was and is Victoria; she never changed in 
her views of other people. In contrast she was, as 
regards herself, of a temperament so elastic that 
impressions endured hardly a moment beyond the 
blow, and pleasures passed without depositing any 
residuum which might form a store against evil 
days. If Krak had cut her arm off, its perpetual 
absence might have made Victoria remember the 
fault which was paid for by amputation ; the moral 
effect of rapid knuckles disappeared with the com- 
fort that came from sucking them. Perhaps her 
disposition was a happy chance for her ; since the 
Styrian discipline (although not, of course, in this 
blankly physical form later on) persisted for her 
long after it had been softened for me. I touch 
again perhaps on a point which has caught my at- 
tention before ; undoubtedly my mother kept the 
status of childhood imposed on Victoria fully as 
long as nature countenanced the measures. Krak 
did not go ; a laugh greeted my hint. Krak stayed 
till Victoria was sixteen. For my part, since it 
was inevitable that Krak should discipline some- 
body, I think heaven was mild in setting her on 
Victoria. Had I stayed under her sway I should 
have run mad. Victoria laughed, cried, joked, 
dared, submitted, offended, defied, suffered, wept, 
and laughed again all in a winter’s afternoon. She 
was by way of putting on the dignity of an elder 
with me and shutting off from my gaze her trials 
and reverses. But there was no one else to tell 


SOMETHING ABOUT VICTORIA 


the joke to, and I had it all each night before I 
slept. 

But now Victoria was sixteen ; and Krak, elderly, 
pensioned, but unbroken, was gone. She went 
back to Styria to chasten and ultimately to enrich 
(I would not for the world have been privy to their 
prayers) some nephews and nieces. It seemed 
strange, but Krak was homesick for Styria. She 
went ; Victoria gave her the tribute of a tear, sur- 
prised out of her before she remembered her causes 
for exultation. Then came their memory, and she 
was outrageously triumphant. A new era began; 
the buffer was gone ; my mother and Victoria were 
face and face. And in a year as Victoria said, in 
two or three as my mother allowed, Victoria would 
be grown up. 

I was myself, most unwillingly, a cause of annoy- 
ance to Victoria, and a pretext for her repression. 
Importance flowed in on me unasked, unearned. 
To speak in homely fashion, she was always “ a bad 
second,” and none save herself attributed to her the 
normal status of privileges of an elder sister. Her 
wrath was not visited on me, but on those who ex- 
alted me so unduly ; even while she resented my 
position she was not, as I have shown, above using 
it for her own ends ; this adaptability was not due 
to guile ; she forgot one mood when another came, 
and compromised her pretensions in the effort to 
compass her desires. Princess Heinrich seized on 
the inconsistency, and pointed it out to her daughter 
with an exasperating lucidity. 

“You are ready enough to remember that Augus- 
tin is king when you want anything from him,” she 
would observe. “ You forget it only when you are 
asked to give way to him.” 

49 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


Victoria would make no reply — the Krak tradi- 
tions endured to prevent an answer to rebukes — 
but when we were alone she used to remark, “ I 
should think an iceberg’s rather like a mother. 
Only one needn’t live with icebergs.” 

Quite suddenly, as it seemed, it occurred to Vic- 
toria that she was pretty. She lost no time in ad- 
vertising the discovery through the medium of a 
thousand new tricks and graces ; a determined as- 
sault on the affections of all the men about us, 
from the lords-in-waiting down to the stablemen — 
an assault that ignored existing domestic ties or pre- 
arranged affections — was the next move in her 
campaign. When she was extremely angry with 
her mother she would say, “ How odious it must 
be not to be young any more ! ” I thought that 
there was sometimes a wistful look in my mother’s 
eyes; was she thinking of Krak, Krak in far-off 
Styria ? Perhaps for once, when Victoria was hit- 
ting covertly at Krak, my mother remarked in a 
very cold voice : 

“You remember your punishments, you don’t 
remember your offences, Victoria.” 

I could linger long on these small matters, for I 
find more interest and incitement to analysis in the 
attitude of women toward women than in their 
more obvious relations with men ; but I must pass 
over a year of veiled conflict, and come to that in- 
cident which is the salient point in Victoria’s girlish 
history. It coincided almost exactly in time with 
the dismissal of Geoffrey Owen, and my pre-occu- 
pation with that event diverted my attention from 
the earlier stages of Victoria’s affair. She was just 
seventeen, grown up in her own esteem (and she 
adduced many precedents to fortify her contention), 
50 


SOMETHING ABOUT VICTORIA 


but in my mother’s eyes still wanting a year of quiet 
home life before she should be launched into society. 
Victoria acquiesced perforce, but turned the flank 
of the decree by ensuring that the home life should 
be by no means quiet. She set to work to prepare 
for us a play ; comedy or tragedy I knew not then, 
and am not now quite clear. Our nearest neigh- 
bour at Artenberg dwelt across the river in the 
picturesque old castle of W aldenweiter ; he was a 
young man of twenty-two at this time, handsome, 
pleasant, and ready for amusement. His father 
being dead, Frederick was his own master — that is 
to say, he had no master. Victoria fell in love with 
him. The Baron, it seemed, was not disinclined 
for a romance with a pretty princess ; perhaps he 
thought that nothing serious would come of it, and 
that it was a pleasant way enough of passing a 
summer ; or, perhaps, being but twenty-two, he 
did not think at all, unless to muse on the depth of 
the blue in Victoria’s eyes, and the comely lines of 
her figure as she rowed on the river. To say truth, 
Victoria gave him small time for reflection. 

As I am convinced, before he had well considered 
the situation he had fallen into the habit of attend- 
ing a rendezvous in a backwater of the stream about 
a mile above Artenberg. Victoria never went out 
unaccompanied, and never came back unaccom- 
panied ; it was discovered afterward that the trusted 
old boatman could be bought off with the price of 
beer, and used to disembark and seek an ale house 
so soon as the backwater was reached. The meet- 
ing over, Victoria would return in high spirits and 
displaying an unusual affection toward my mother, 
either as a blind, or through remorse, or (as I in- 
cline to think) through an amiability born of 
51 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


triumph ; there was at times even a touch of com- 
miseration in her manner, and more than once she 
spoke to me, in a tone of philosophical specula- 
tion, on the uselessness of endeavouring to repress 
natural feelings and the futility of treating as chil- 
dren persons who were already grown up. This 
mood lasted some time, so long, I suppose, as the 
stolen delight of doing the thing was more promi- 
nent than the delight in the thing itself. A month 
passed and brought a change. Now she was silent, 
absent, pensive, very kind to me, more genuinely 
submissive and dutiful to her mother. The first force 
of my blow had left me, for Owen had been gone 
now some months ; I began to observe my sister 
carefully. To my amazement she, formerly the 
most heedless of creatures, knew in an instant that 
she was watched. She drew off from me, setting 
a distance between us ; my answer was to withdraw 
my companionship, since only thus could I con- 
vince her that I had no desire to spy. I had not 
guessed the truth, and my mother had no inkling 
of it. Princess Heinrich’s ignorance may seem 
strange, but I have often observed that persons of 
a masterful temper are rather easy to delude ; they 
have such difficulty in conceiving that they can be 
disobeyed as to become ready subjects for hood- 
winking; I recollect old Hammerfeldt saying to 
me, “ In public affairs, sire, always expect disobe- 
dience, but be chary of rewarding obedience.” My 
mother adopted the second half of the maxim but 
disregarded the first. She always expected obedi- 
ence ; Victoria knew it and built on her knowledge 
a confident hope of impunity in deceit. 

Now on what harsh word have I stumbled ? For 
deceit savours of meanness. Let me amend and 
52 


SOMETHING ABOUT VICTORIA 


seek the charity, the neutral tolerance, of some such 
word as concealment. For things good and things 
bad may be concealed, things that people should 
know and things that concern them not, great 
secrets of State and the flutterings of hearts. 
Victoria practised concealment. 

I found her crying once, crying alone in a cor- 
ner of the terrace under a ludicrous old statue of 
Mercury. I was amazed; I had not seen her cry 
so heartily since Krak had last ill-treated her. I 
put it to her that some such affliction must be 
responsible for her despair. 

“ I wish it was only that,” she answered. “Do 
go away, Augustin.” 

“ I don’t want to stay,” said I. “ Only if you 
want anything ” 

“ I wonder if you could ! ” she said with a sud- 
den flush. “ No, it’s no use,” she went on. “And 
it’s nothing. Augustin, if you tell mother you 
found me crying, I ’ll never ” 

“ You know quite well that I never tell anybody 
anything,” said I, rather offended. 

“ Then go away, dear,” urged Victoria. 

I went away. I had been feeling very lonely 
myself, and had sought out Victoria for company’s 
sake. However, I went and walked alone down 
to the edge of the river. It was clear that Vic- 
toria did not want me, and apparently I could do 
nothing for her. I have never found myself able 
to do very much for people, except those who did 
not deserve to have anything done for them. Per- 
haps poor Victoria didn’t, but I was not aware of 
her demerits then. I repeated to the river my old 
reflection : “ I don’t see that it’s much use being 
king, you know,” said I as I flung a pebble and 
53 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


looked across at the towers of W aldenweiter. 
“ That fellow’s better off than I am,” said I ; and 
I wished again that Victoria had not sent me 
away. There is a period of life during which one 
is always being sent away, and it is not quite over 
for me yet in spite of my dignity. 

At last came the crash. A little carelessness 
born of habit and impunity, the treachery of the 
old boatman under the temptation of a gold piece, 
the girl’s lack of savoir fair e when charged with 
the offence — here was enough, and more than 
enough. I recollect being summoned to my 
mother’s room late one evening, just about my 
bedtime. I went and found her alone with Vic- 
toria. The Princess sat in her great arm-chair; 
Victoria was leaning against the wall when I en- 
tered ; her handkerchief was crushed in one hand, 
the other hand clenched by her side. 

“ Augustin,” said the Princess, “ Victoria and I 
go to Biarritz to-morrow.” 

Victoria’s quick breathing was her only com- 
ment. My mother told me in brief, curt, offensive 
phrases that Victoria had been carrying on a flirta- 
tion with our opposite neighbour. I have no doubt 
that I looked surprised. 

“You may well wonder!” cried my mother. 
“If she could not remember what she was herself, 
she might have remembered that the King was her 
brother.” 

“ I’ve done nothing — ” Victoria began. 

“ Hold your tongue,” said my mother. “ If 
you were in Styria, instead of here, you’d be locked 
up in your own room for a month on bread and 
water; yes, you may think yourself lucky that I 
only take you to Biarritz.” 

54 


SOMETHING ABOUT VICTORIA 


“ Styria ! ” said Victoria with a very bitter smile. 
“If I were in Styria I should be beheaded, I dare- 
say, or — or knouted, or something. Oh, I know 
what Styria means ! Krak taught me that.” 

“ I wish the Baroness was here,” observed the 
Princess. 

“ You’d tell her to beat me, I suppose ? ” flashed 
out my sister. 

“If you were three years younger — ” began 
my mother with perfect outward composure. V ic- 
toria interrupted her passionately. 

“Oh, never mind my age. I’m a child still. 
Come and beat me ! ” she cried, assuming the air of 
an Iphigenia. 

To this day I am of opinion that she ran a risk 
in giving this invitation ; it was well on the cards 
that the Princess might have accepted it. Indeed 
had it been Styria — but it was not Styria. My 
mother turned to me with a cold smile. 

“You perceive,” said she, “the spirit in which 
your sister meets me because I object to her com- 
promising herself with this wretched baron. She 
accuses me of persecution, and talks as though I 
were an executioner.” 

I had been looking very curiously at Victoria. 
She was in a dressing-gown, having been called, 
apparently, from her bedroom ; her hair was over 
her shoulders. She looked most prettily woe- 
begone — like Juliet before her angry father, or, as 
I say, Iphigenia before the knife. In a moment 
she broke out again. 

“ Nobody feels for me,” she complained. 
“ What can Augustin know of it ? ” 

“ I know,” observed my mother. “ But although 
I know ” 


55 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


“ Oh, you’ve forgotten,” cried Victoria scorn- 
fully. 

For a moment my mother flushed. I was glad 
on all accounts that Victoria did not repeat her 
previous invitation now. On the contrary, when 
she had looked at Princess Heinrich, she gave a 
sudden frightened sob, rushed across the room, and 
flung herself on her knees at my feet. 

“You’re the king!” she cried. “Protect me, 
protect me ! ” 

Throughout all this very painful interview I 
seemed to hear as it were echoes of the romances 
which I had read on Victoria’s recommendation; 
the reminiscence was particularly strong in this 
last exclamation. However, it is not safe to con- 
clude that feelings are not sincere because they are 
expressed in conventional phrases. These formulas 
are moulds into which our words run easily ; though 
the moulds be hollow, the stuff that fills them may 
be solid enough. 

“ Why, you don’t want to marry him ? ” I ex- 
claimed, much embarrassed at being prematurely 
forced into functions of a pere defamille. 

“ I’ll never marry anybody else,” moaned Vic- 
toria. My mother’s face was the picture of disgust 
and scorn. 

“That’s another thing,” said she. “At least 
the King would not hear of such a marriage as 
this.” 

“Do you want to marry him?” I asked Vic- 
toria, chiefly, I confess, in curiosity. I had risen — 
or fallen — in some degree to my position, and it 
seemed strange to me that my sister should wish 
to marry this Baron Fritz. 

44 1 — I love him, Augustin,” groaned Victoria. 

56 


SOMETHING ABOUT VICTORIA 


“ She knows it’s impossible, as well as you do,” 
said my mother. “ She doesn’t really want to do it.” 

Victoria cried quietly, but made no reply or pro- 
test. I was bewildered; I did not understand 
then how we may passionately desire a thing which 
we would not do, and may snatch at the opposition 
of others as an excuse alike for refusal and for 
tears. Looking back, I do not think had we set 
Victoria free in the boat, and put the sculls in her 
hands, that she would have rowed over to Walden- 
weiter. But did she, then, deserve no pity ? Per- 
haps she deserved more; for not two weak crea- 
tures like the Princess (I crave her pardon) and 
myself stood between her and her wishes, but she 
herself — the being that she had been fashioned 
into, her whole life, her nature, and her heart, as 
our state had made them. If our soul be our 
prison, and ourself the jailer, in vain shall we plan 
escape or offer bribes for freedom ; wheresoever we 
go we carry the walls with us, and if death, then 
death alone can unlock the gates. 

The scene grew quieter. Victoria rose, and threw 
herself into a chair in a weary, puzzled desolation; 
my mother sat quite still, with eyes intent on the 
floor, and lips close shut. A sense of awkwardness 
grew strong on me ; I wanted to get out of the room. 
They would not fight any more now; they would 
be very distant to one another ; and, moreover, it 
seemed clear that Victoria did not propose to marry 
Baron Fritz. But what about poor Baron Fritz ? 
I approached my mother, and whispered a question. 
She answered me aloud. 

“ I have written to Prince von Hammerfeldt. A 
letter from him will, I have no doubt, be enough to 
insure us against further impertinence.” 

57 


THE KING’S MIRROR 

Victoria dabbed her eyes, but no protest came 
from her. 

“We shall start mid-day to-morrow,” the Prin- 
cess pursued, “ unless, of course, Victoria refuses to 
accompany me.” Her voice took a tinge of irony. 
“Possibly your wishes may persuade her, Augustin, 
if mine can not.” 

Victoria raised her head suddenly, and said very 
distinctly : 

“ I will do what Augustin tells me.” The em- 
phatic word in that sentence was “ Augustin.” 

My mother smiled bitterly ; she understood well 
enough the implicit declaration of war, the appeal 
from her to me, the shifting of allegiance. I daresay 
that she saw the absurdity of putting a boy not yet 
sixteen into such a position ; but I know that I felt 
it much more strongly. 

“ Oh, you’d better go, hadn’t you ? ” I asked 
uncomfortably. “ You wouldn’t be very jolly here, 
you know.” 

“ I’ll do as you tell me, Augustin.” 

“Yes, we are both at your orders,” said my 
mother. 

It crossed my mind that their journey would not 
be a very pleasant one, but I did not feel able to 
enter into that side of the question. I resented this 
reference to me, and desired to be rid of the affair. 

“ I should like you to do as mother suggests,” 
said I. 

“Very well, Augustin,” said Victoria, and she 
rose to her feet. She was a tall, graceful girl, and 
looked very stately as she walked by her mother. 
The Princess made no movement or sign ; the grim 
smile persisted on her lips. After a moment or two 
of wavering I followed my sister from the room. 

58 


SOMETHING ABOUT VICTORIA 


She was just ahead of me in the passage, moving 
toward her bedroom with a slow, listless tread. An 
impulse of sympathy came upon me ; I ran after 
her, caught her by the arm, and kissed her. 

“ Cheer up,” I said. 

“Oh, it’s all right, Augustin,” said she. “I’ve 
only been a fool.” 

There seemed nothing else to do, so I kissed her 
again. 

“ Fancy, Biarritz with mother ! ” she moaned. 
Then she turned on me suddenly, almost fiercely. 
“ But what’s the good of asking anything of you ? 
You’re afraid of mother still.” 

I drew back as though she had struck me. A 
moment later her arms were round my neck. 

“ Oh, never mind, my dear,” she sobbed. “ Don’t 
you see I’m miserable ? Of course, I must go with 
her.” 

I had never supposed that any other course was 
practicable. The introduction of myself into the 
business had been but a move in the game. Never- 
theless it marked the beginning of a new position 
for me, as rich in discomfort as, according to my 
experience, are most extensions of power. 


59 


CHAPTER VI 


A STUDENT OF LOVE AFFAIRS 

The departure to Biarritz was carried through 
without further overt hostilities. It chanced to be 
holidays with me, all my tutors were on their vaca- 
tion, my governor, Vohrenlorf, on a visit at Berlin. 
Hearing of my solitude, he insisted on making ar- 
rangements to return speedily ; but for a few days 
I was left quite alone, saving for the presence of my 
French body-servant Baptiste. I liked Baptiste ; he 
was by conviction an anarchist, by prejudice a free- 
thinker ; one shrug of his shoulders disposed of the 
institutions of this world, another relegated the next 
to the limbo of delusions. He was always respectful, 
but possessed an unconquerably intimate manner ; 
he could not forget that man spoke to man, although 
one might be putting on the other’s boots for him. 
He regarded me with mingled affection and pity. I 
had overheard him speaking of le pauvre petit roi ; 
the point of view was so much my own that from the 
instant my heart went out to Baptiste. Since he at- 
tributed to me no sacro-sanctity, he was not officious 
or persistent in his attendance while he was on duty ; 
in fact he left me very much to my own devices. 
To my mother he was polite but cold ; he adored 
Victoria, declaring that she was worthy of being 
French ; his great hatred was for Hammerfeldt, 
whom he accused of embodying the devil of Teu- 
tonism. Hammerfeldt was aware of his feelings and 
played with them, while he trusted Baptiste more 
60 


A STUDENT OF LOVE AFFAIRS 


than anybody about me. He did not know how 
attached I was to the Frenchman, and I did not 
intend that he should learn. I had received a 
sharp lesson with regard to parading my prefer- 
ences. 

It was through Baptiste that I heard of Baron 
Fritz’s side of the case, for Baptiste was friendly 
with Fritz’s servants. The Baron, it appeared, 
was in despair. 44 They watch him when he walks 
by the river,” declared Baptiste with a gesture 
in which dismay and satisfaction were curiously 
blended. 

44 Poor fellow ! ” said I, leaning back in the stern 
of the boat. To be in such a state on Victoria’s 
account was odd and deplorable. 

Baptiste laid down the sculls and leaned forward 
smiling. 

44 It is nothing, sire,” said he. 44 It must happen 
now and again to all of us. M. le Baron will soon 
be well. Meanwhile he is — oh, miserable ! ” 

44 Is he all alone there ? ” I asked. 

44 Absolutely, sire. He will see nobody.” 

I looked up at Walden weiter. 

44 He has not even his mother with him,” said 
Baptiste ; the remark, as Baptiste delivered it, was 
impertinent, and yet so intangibly impertinent as to 
afford no handle for reproof. He meant that the 
Baron was free from an aggravation ; he said that 
he lacked a consolation. 

44 Shall I go and see him ? ” I asked. In truth I 
was rather curious about him ; it was a pleasure to 
me to break out of my own surroundings. 

44 What would the Prince say ? ” said Baptiste. 

44 He need not know. Row ashore there.” 

44 You must not go, sire. It would be known, 
5 61 


THE KING S MIRROR 

and they would say — ” Baptistes shrug was 
eloquent. 

“Do they always talk about everything one 
does ? ” 

“ Certainly, sire, it is your privilege,” smiled my 
servant. But I think he might come to you. That 
could be managed ; not in the Schloss, but in the 
wood, quite privately. I can contrive it.” 

Baptiste did contrive it, and Baron Fritz came. 
I was now just too old to scorn love, just too young 
to sympathise fully with it. There is that age in a 
boys life, but since he holds his tongue about it, it 
is apt to escape notice, and people jest on the sud- 
den change in his attitude toward women. Nothing 
in nature is sudden ; no more, then, is this transition. 
I looked curiously at Fritz; he was timid with me. 
I perceived that he was not an ordinary young 
nobleman, devoted only to sport and wine ; he had 
something of Owen’s romance, but in him it was 
self-centred, not open wide to embrace the uni- 
verse of things beautiful and ugly. He thanked 
me for receiving him in a rather elaborate and arti- 
ficial fashion. I wondered at once that he had 
caught Victoria’s fancy; her temperament seemed 
too robust for him. He began to speak of her in 
some very poetical phrases; he quoted a line of 
poetry about Diana and Endymion. I had been 
made to turn it into Latin verses, and its sentiment 
fell cold on my soul. He spoke of his passion with 
desperation, and I thought with pride. He said 
that, happen what might, his whole life was the 
Princess’s ; but he did not mention Victoria’s name, 
he said “ her ” with an air of mystery, as though 
spies lurked in the woods. There was nobody save 
Baptiste, standing sentry to guard this secret meet- 
62 


A STUDENT OF LOVE AFFAIRS 


ing. 1 gave the Baron a cigarette, and lit one 
myself; I had begun the habit, though still sur- 
reptitiously. 

“ You must have known there’d be a row ? ” I 
suggested. 

“ Tell me of her ! ” he cried. “ Is she in great 
grief ? ” 

I did not want to tell him about Victoria ; I 
wanted him to tell me about himself. As soon as 
he understood this, I am bound to say that he grati- 
fied me at once. I sat looking at him while he 
described his feelings ; all at once he turned and 
discovered my gaze on him. 

“ Go on,” said I. 

The Baron appeared uncomfortable. His eyes 
fell to the ground, and he tried to puff at his cigar- 
ette which he had allowed to go out. I daresay 
he thought me a strange boy ; but he could not 
very well say so. 

“ You don’t understand it ? ” he asked. 

“Partly,” I answered. 

“We never had any hope,” said he, almost lux- 
uriously. 

“ But you enjoyed it very much ? ” I suggested; 
I was quite grave about it in my mind, as well as 
in my face. 

“ Ah ! ” sighed he softly. 

“ And now r it’s all over! ” 

“ I see her no more. I think of her. She thinks 
of me.” 

“ Perhaps,” said I meditatively. I was won- 
dering whether they did not think more about 
themselves. “ Didn’t you think you might man- 
age it ? ” 

“ Alas, no. Sorrow was always in our joy.” 

63 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


“ What are you going to do now ? ” 

“ What is there for me to do ? ” he asked despair- 
ingly. 44 Sometimes I think that I can not endure 
to live.” 

44 Baptiste told me that they watched you when 
you walked by the river.” 

He turned to me with a very interested expres- 
sion of face. 

44 Do they really ? ” he asked. 

44 So Baptiste said.” 

44 I promised her that, whatever happened, I 
would do nothing rash,” said he. 44 What would 
her feelings be ? ” 

“ We should all be very much distressed,” said I, 
in my best court manner. 

44 Ah, the world, the world ! ” sighed Baron Fritz. 
Then with an air of great courage he went on. 
44 Yet, how am I so diffrent from her ? ” 

4 4 1 think you are very much alike,” said I. 

44 But she is — a Princess ! ” 

I felt that he was laying a sort of responsibility 
on me. I could not help Victoria being a Princess. 
He laughed bitterly ; I seemed to be put on my 
defence. 

44 1 think it just as absurd as you do,” I hastened 
to say. 

4 4 Absurd!” he echoed. 44 1 didn’t say that I 
thought it absurd. Would not your Majesty 
rather say tragic ? There must be kings, princes, 
princesses — our hearts pay the price.” 

I was growing rather weary of this Baron, and 
wondering more and more what Victoria had dis- 
covered in him. But my lack of knowledge led me 
into an error; I attributed what wearied me in no 
degree to the Baron himself, but altogether to his 


A STUDENT OF LOVE AFFAIRS 

condition. “ This, then, is what it is to be in love,” 
I was saying to myself ; I summoned up the relics 
of my scorn once so abundant and vigorous. The 
Baron perhaps detected the beginnings of ennui ; 
he rose to his feet. 

“ Forgive me, if I say that your Majesty will 
understand my feelings better in two or three 
years” he observed. 

“ I suppose I shall,” I answered, rather uneasily. 

“ Meanwhile I must live it down ; I must mas- 
ter it.” 

“ It’s the only thing to do.” 

“ And she ” 

“ Oh, she’ll get over it,” I assured him, nodding 
my head. 

I am inclined sometimes to count it among my 
misfortunes, that the first love affair with which I 
was brought into intimate connection and con- 
fronted at an age still so impressionable, should 
have been of the shallow and somewhat artificial 
character betrayed by the romance of my sister 
and Baron Fritz. She was a headstrong girl; 
longing to exercise power over men, surprised 
when a temporary gust of feeling carried her into 
an emotion unexpectedly strong; he was a self- 
conscious fellow, hugging his woes and delighting 
in the picturesqueness of his misfortune. The no- 
tion left on my mind was that there was a great 
deal of nonsense about the matter. Baptiste 
strengthened my opinion. 

“ I ask your pardon, sire,” he said with a shrug, 
“ but we know the sentimentality of the Germans. 
What is it ? Sighs and then beer, more sighs and 
more beer, a deluge of sighs and a deluge of beer. 
A Frenchman is not like that in his little affairs.” 

65 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


“ What does a Frenchman do, Baptiste ? ” I had 
the curiosity to ask. 

“ Ah,” laughed Baptiste, “ if I told your Majesty 
now, you would not care to visit Paris; and I long 
to go to Paris with your Majesty.” 

I did not pursue the subject. I was conscious of 
a disenchantment, begun by Victoria, continued by 
the Baron. The reaction made in favour of my 
mother. I acknowledged the wisdom of her firm- 
ness and an excuse for her anger. I realised her 
causes for annoyance and shame, and saw the hol- 
lowness of the lovers’ pleas. I had thought the 
Princess very hard ; I was now inclined to think 
that she had shown as much self-control as could 
be expected from her. Rather to my own surprise 
I found myself extending this more favourable 
judgment of her to other matters, entering with a 
new sympathy into her disposition, and even forgiv- 
ing some harsh thing which I had never pardoned. 
The idea suggested itself to my mind, that even 
the rigours of the Styrian discipline had a rational 
relation to the position which the victims of it were 
destined to fill. She might be right in supposing 
that we could not be allowed the indulgence ac- 
corded to the common run of children. We were 
destined for a special purpose, and, if we were not 
made of a special clay, yet we must be fashioned 
into a special shape. It is hard to disentangle the 
influence of one event from that exerted by an- 
other. Perhaps the loss of Owen, and the conse- 
quently increased influence of Hammerfeldt over 
my life and thoughts, had as much to do with my 
new feelings as Victoria’s love affair; but in any 
case I date from this time a fresh development of 
myself. I was growing into my kingship, begin- 
66 


A STUDENT OF LOVE AFFAIRS 


ning to realise the conception of it, and to fill up 
that conception in my own mind. This moment 
was of importance to me ; for it marked the begin- 
ning of a period during which this idea of my posi- 
tion was very dominant and coloured all I did or 
thought. I did not change my opinion as to the 
discomfort of the post ; but its importance, its 
sacredness, and its paramount claims grew larger 
and larger in my eyes. It seems curious, but had 
Baron Fritz been a different sort of lover, I think 
that I should have been in some respects a differ- 
ent sort of a king. It needs a constant intellectual 
effort to believe that there is anything except acci- 
dent in the course of the world. 

Hammerfeldt’s persistent pressure drove the love- 
lorn Baron, still undrowned (had the watchers been 
too vigilant?), on a long foreign tour, and in three 
months the Princess and Victoria returned. I saw 
at once that the new relations were permanently 
established between them ; my mother displayed 
an almost ostentatious abdication of authority; her 
whole air declared that since Victoria chose to walk 
alone, alone in good truth she should walk. It 
was the attitude of a proud and domineering nat- 
ure that answers any objection to its sway by a 
wholesale disclaimer at once of power and respon- 
sibility. Victoria accepted her mother’s resolution, 
but rather with resentment than gratitude. They 
had managed the affair badly ; my mother had lost 
influence without gaining affection ; my sister had 
forfeited guidance but not achieved a true liberty. 
She was hardly more her own mistress than before ; 
Hammerfeldt, screened behind me, now trammelled 
her, and she had a statesman to deal with instead 
of a mother. Only once she spoke to me concern- 
67 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


ing the Baron and his affair ; the three months had 
wrought some change here also. 

“ I was very silly,” she said impatiently. “ I 
know that well enough.” 

“ Then why don’t you make it up with mother? ” 
I ventured to suggest. 

“Mother behaved odiously,” she declared. “I 
can never forgive her the way she treated me.” 

The grievance then had shifted its ground ; not 
what the Princess had done, but the manner in 
which she had done it was now the head and front 
of her offence. It needed little acquaintance with 
the world to recognise that matters were not im- 
proved by this change ; one may come to recognise 
that common sense was with the enemy; vanity at 
once takes refuge in the conviction that his awk- 
wardness, rudeness, or cruelty in advancing his case 
was responsible for all the trouble. 

“ If she had been kind, I should have seen it all 
directly,” said Victoria. And in this it may very 
well be that Victoria was not altogether wrong. 

The position was, however, inconsistent with even 
moderate comfort. There was a way of ending it, 
obvious, I suppose, to everybody save myself, but 
seeming rather startling to my youthful mind. In 
six months now Victoria would be eighteen, and 
eighteen is a marriageable age. Victoria must be 
married ; my mother and Hammerfeldt went hus- 
band-hunting. As soon as I heard of the scheme 
I was ready with brotherly sympathy, and even 
cherished the idea of interposing a hitherto untried 
royal veto on such premature haste and cruel forc- 
ing of a girl’s inclination. Victoria received my 
advances with visible surprise. Did I suppose, she 
asked, that she was so happy at home as to shrink 


A STUDENT OF LOVE AFFAIRS 


from marriage? Would not such a step be rather 
an emancipation than a banishment? (I para- 
phrase and condense her observation. ) Did I not 
perceive that she must hail the prospect with re- 
lief ? I was to know that her mother and herself 
were at one on this matter; she was obliged for 
my kindness, but thought that I need not concern 
myself in the matter. Considerably relieved, not 
less puzzled, with a picture of Victoria sobbing and 
the Baron walking (well watched) by the rivers 
brink, I withdrew from my sister s presence. It 
occurred to me that to take a husband in order to 
escape from a mother was a peculiar step ; I have 
since seen reason to suppose that it is more com- 
mon than I imagined. 

The history of my private life is (to speak broad- 
ly) the record of the reaction of my public capacity 
on my personal position ; the effect of this reaction 
has been almost uniformly unfortunate. The case 
of Victoria’s marriage affords a good instance. It 
might have been that here at least I should be suf- 
fered to play a fraternal and grateful part. My 
fate and Hammerfeldt ruled otherwise. There 
were two persons who suggested themselves as 
suitable mates for my sister; one was the reigning 
king of a country which I need not name, the other 
was Prince William Adolphus of Alt-Gronenstahl, 
a prince of considerable wealth and unexceptionable 
descent but not in the direct succession to a 
throne, not likely to occupy a prominent position 
in Europe. Victoria had never quite forgiven for- 
tune (or perhaps me either) for not making her a 
queen in the first instance ; she was eager to repair 
the error. She came to me and begged me to ex- 
ert my influence in behalf of the king, who was 
69 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


understood through his advisers to favour the sug- 
gestion. I was most happy to second her wishes, 
although entirely sceptical as to the value of my 
assistance. I recollect very well the interview 
that followed between Hammerfeldt and myself; 
throughout the Prince treated me en roi , speaking 
with absolute candour, disclosing to me the whole 
question, and assuming in me an elevation of 
spirit superior to merely personal feelings. 

“ After your Majesty,” said he, “ the Princess is 
heir to the throne. W e have received representa- 
tions that the union of the two countries in one 
hand could not be contemplated by the Powers. 
Now you, sire, are young; you are and must be 
for some years unmarried ; life is uncertain and ” 
(here he looked at me steadily) “ your physicians 
are of opinion that certain seeds of weakness, 
sown by your severe illness, have not yet been 
eradicated from your constitution. It is neces- 
sary for me to offer these observations to your 
Majesty.” 

The old man’s eyes were very kind. 

“ It’s all right, sir,” said I. “ Go on.” 

“We all trust that you may live through a long 
reign, and that your son may reign after you. It 
is, indeed, the only strong wish that I have left in 
a world which I have well-nigh done with. But 
the other possibility has been set before us and we 
can not ignore it.” 

From that moment I myself never ignored it. 

“ It was suggested that Princess Victoria should 
renounce her rights of succession. I need not re- 
mind your Majesty that the result would be to 
make your cousin Prince Ferdinand heir-presump- 
tive. I desire to speak with all respect of the 
70 


A STUDENT OF LOVE AFFAIRS 


Prince, but his succession would be an unmixed 
calamity.” The Prince took a pinch of snuff. 

Ferdinand was very liberal in his theories; and 
equally so, in a rather different sense, in his mode 
of life. 

I thought for a moment. 

4 4 I shouldn’t like the succession to go out of our 
branch,” said I. 

“ I was sure of it, sire,” he said, bowing. 44 It 
would break your mother’s heart and mine.” 

I was greatly troubled. What of my ready, in- 
considerate promise to Victoria ? And apart from 
the promise I would most eagerly have helped her 
to her way. I had felt severely the lack of con- 
fidence and affection that had recently come about 
between us ; I was hungry for her love, and hoped 
to buy it of her gratitude. I believe old Hammer- 
feldt’s keen eyes saw all that passed in my thoughts. 
The Styrian teaching had left its mark on my mind, 
as had the Styrian discipline on my soul. 44 God 
did not make you king for your own pleasure,” 
Krak used to say with that instinctive knowledge 
of the Deity which marks those who train the 
young. No, nor for my sister’s, nor even that I 
might conciliate my sister’s love. Nay, again, nor 
even that I might make my sister happy. For 
none of these ends did I sit where I sat. But 1 
felt very forlorn and sad as I looked at the old 
Prince. 

4 4 Victoria will be very angry,” said I. 44 1 wanted 
to please her so much.” 

44 The Princess has her duties, and will recognise 
yours,” he answered. 

44 Of course, if I die it’ll be all right. But if I 
live she’ll say I did it just out of ill-nature.” 

71 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


The old man rose from his chair, laying his snuff- 
box on the table by him. He came up to me and 
held out both his hands; I put mine into them, 
and looked up into his face. It was moved by a 
most rare emotion. I had never seen him like this 
before. 

“ Sire,” said he in a low tone, “ do not think that 
nobody loves you; for from that mood it may 
come that a man will love nobody. There is an 
old man that loves you, as he loved your father 
and your grandfather ; and your people shall love 
you.” He bent down and kissed me on either 
cheek. Then he released my hands and stood be- 
fore me. There was a long silence. Then he said : 

“Have I your Majesty’s authority and support 
in acting for the good of the kingdom ? ” 

“ Yes,” said I. 

But, alas ! for Victoria’s hopes, ambitions, and 
vanity for her crown, and her crowned husband. 
Alas, poor sister ! And, alas, poor brother, hungry 
to be friends again ! 


72 


CHAPTER VII 


THINGS NOT TO BE NOTICED 

I have not the heart to set down what passed 
between my sister and myself when I broke to her 
the news that I must be against her. Impulsive in 
all her moods, and ungoverned in her emotions, she 
displayed much bitterness and an anger that her 
disappointment may excuse. I have little doubt 
that I, on my part, was formal, priggish, perhaps 
absurd; all these faults she charged me with. You 
cannot put great ideas in a boy’s head without puff- 
ing him up ; I was doing at cost to myself what I 
was convinced was my duty ; it was only too likely 
that I gave myself some airs during the perform- 
ance. Might I not be pardoned if I talked a little 
big about my position ? The price I was paying for 
it was big enough. It touched me most nearly 
when she accused me of jealousy, but I set it down 
only to her present rage. I was tempted to soften 
her by dwelling on my own precarious health, but I 
am glad that an instinct for fair play made me leave 
that weapon unused. She grew calm at last, and 
rose to her feet with a pale face. 

“ I have tried to do right,” said I. 

“ I shall not forget what you have done,” she re- 
torted as she walked out of the room. 

I have been much alone in my life — alone in 
spirit, I mean, for that is the only loneliness that 
has power to hurt a man — but never so much as 
during the year that elapsed before Victoria’s mar- 
73 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


riage was celebrated. Save for Hammerfeldt, whose 
engagements did not allow him to be much in my 
company, and to whom it was possible to open one’s 
heart only rarely, I had nobody with whom I was 
in sympathy. For my mother, although she yielded 
more readily to the inevitable, was yet in secret on 
Victoria’s side on the matter of marriage. Victoria 
had been for meeting the foreign representatives by 
renouncing her succession ; my mother would not 
hear of that, but was for defying the protests. N oth- 
ing, she had declared, could really come of them. 
Hammerfeldt overbore her with his knowledge and 
experience, leaving her defeated, but only half con- 
vinced, sullen, and disappointed. She was careful 
not to take sides against me overtly, but neither did 
she seek to comfort or to aid me. She withdrew 
into a neutrality that favoured Victoria silently, al- 
though it refused openly to espouse her cause. The 
two ladies thus came closer together again, leaving 
me more to myself. The near prospect of inde- 
pendence reconciled Victoria to a temporary con- 
trol ; my mother was more gentle from her share in 
her daughter’s disappointment. For my part I 
took refuge more and more in books and my sport. 

Amusement is the one great consolation that life 
offers, and even in this dreary time it was not lack- 
ing. The love-lorn Baron had returned to Walden- 
weiter ; he wrote to Hammerfeldt for permission ; 
the Prince refused it ; the Baron rejoined that he 
was about to be married ; I can imagine the grim 
smile with which the old man withdrew his objec- 
tion. The Baron came home with his wife. This 
event nearly broke the new alliance between my 
mother and my sister; it was so very difficult for 
my mother not to triumph, and Victoria detected a 
74 


THINGS NOT TO BE NOTICED 


taunt even in silence. However, there was no rup- 
ture, the Baron was never mentioned ; but I, seek- 
ing distraction, made it my business to pursue him 
as often as he ventured into his boat. I overtook 
him once and insisted on going up to Walden weiter 
and being introduced to the pretty young Baroness. 
She knew nothing about the affair, and was rather 
hurt at not being invited to Artenberg. The Baron 
was on thorns during the whole interview — but not 
so much because he must be looking a fool in my 
eyes, as because he did not desire to seem light of 
love in his wife’s. Unhappily, however, about this 
time a pamphlet was secretly printed and circulated, 
giving a tolerably accurate account of the whole af- 
fair. The wrath in “ exalted quarters ” may be im- 
agined. I managed to procure (through Baptiste) a 
copy of this publication and read it with much en- 
tertainment. Victoria, in spite of her anger, bor- 
rowed it from me. It is within my knowledge that 
the Baroness received a copy from an unknown 
friend, and that the Baron, being thus driven into 
a corner, admitted that the Princess had at one time 
distinguished him by some attentions — and could 
he be rude ? N ow, curiously enough, the report that 
got about on our bank of the river was, that there 
was no foundation at all for the assertions of the 
pamphlet, except in a foolish and ill-mannered perse- 
cution to which the Princess had, during a short 
period, been subjected. After this there could be 
no question of any invitation passing from Arten- 
berg to Walden weiter. The subject dropped; the 
printer made some little scandal and a pocket full of 
money, and persons who, like myself, knew the facts 
and could appreciate the behaviour of the lovers 
gained considerable amusement. 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


My second source of diversion was found in my 
future brother-in-law, William Adolphus, of Alt- 
Gronenstahl. He was, in himself, a thoroughly 
heavy fellow, although admirably good-natured and, 
I believe, a practical and competent soldier. He was 
tall, dark, and even at this time inclining to stout- 
ness ; he became afterward exceedingly corpulent. 
He did not at first promise amusement, but a rather 
malicious humour found much in him, owing to the 
circumstance that the poor fellow was acquainted 
with the negotiations touching the marriage first sug- 
gested for Victoria, and was fully aware that he him- 
self was in his lady’s eyes only a pis-aller . His dig- 
nity might have refused such a situation ; but in the 
first instance he had been hardly more of a free agent 
than Victoria herself, and later on, as though he were 
determined to deprive himself of all defence, he pro- 
ceeded to fall genuinely in love with my capricious 
but very attractive sister. I was sorry for him, but 
I am not aware that sympathy with people excludes 
amusement at them. I hope not, for wide sympa- 
thies are a very desirable thing. William Adolphus, 
looking round for a friend, honoured me with his 
confidence, and during his visits to Artenberg used 
to consult me almost daily as to how he might best 
propitiate his deity and wean her thoughts from that 
other alliance which had so eclipsed his in its pro- 
spective brilliance. 

“ Girls are rather difficult to manage,” he used to 
say to me ruefully. “ You’ll know more about 
them in a few years, Augustin.” 

I knew much more about them than he did 
already. I am not boasting ; but people who 
learn only from experience do not allow for in- 
tuition. 


76 


THINGS NOT TO BE NOTICED 


“ But I think she’s beginning to get fonder of 
me,” he would end, with an uphill cheerfulness. 

She was not beginning to get the least fonder of 
him ; she was beginning to be interested and excited 
in the stir of the marriage. There were so many 
things to do and talk about, and so much desirable 
prominence and publicity attaching to the affair, 
that she had less time for nursing her dislike. The 
shock of him was passing over ; he was falling into 
focus with the rest of it ; but she was not becoming 
in the least fonder of him. I knew all this without 
the few words ; with them he knew none of it. It 
seems to be a mere accident who chances to be per- 
vious to truth, who impervious. 

In loneliness for me, in perturbation for poor 
William Adolphus, in I know not what for Victoria 
the time passed on. There is but one incident that 
stands out, flaming against the gray of that monot- 
ony. The full meaning of it I did not understand 
then, but now I know it better. 

I was sitting alone in my dressing-room. I had 
sent Baptiste to bed, and was reading a book with 
interest. Suddenly the door was opened violently. 
Before I could even rise to my feet, Victoria — the 
door slammed behind her — had thrown herself on 
her knees before me. She was in her nightdress, 
barefooted, her hair loose and tumbled on her shoul- 
ders ; it seemed as though she had sprung up from 
her bed and run to me. She caught my arms in 
her hands, and laid her face on my knees ; she said 
nothing, but sobbed violently with a terrible gasp- 
ing rapidity. 

“ My God, what’s the matter ? ” said I. 

For a moment there was no answer ; then her voice 
came, interrupted and half- choked by constant sobs. 

6 77 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“I can’t do it, I can’t doit. For God’s sake, 
don’t make me do it.” 

“ Do what ? ” I asked. 

Her sobs alone answered me, and their answer 
was enough. I sat there helpless and still, the 
nervous, tight clutching of her hands pinning my 
arms to my side. 

“You’re the king, you’re the king,” she moaned. 

Yes, I was the king; even then I smiled. 

“You don’t know,” she went on, and now she 
raised her face streaming with tears. “You don’t 
know — how can you know what it is ? Help me, 
help me, Augustin.” 

The thing had come on me with utter sudden- 
ness, the tranquillity of my quiet room had been 
rudely rent by the invasion. I was, in an instant, 
face to face with a strange, dim tragedy, the like of 
which I had never known, the stress of which I 
could never fully know. But all the tenderness 
that I had for her, my love for her beauty, and the 
yearning for comradeship that she herself had choked 
rose in me ; I bent my head till my lips rested on 
her hair, crying, “ Don’t, darling, don’t.” 

She sprang up, throwing her arm about my neck, 
and looking round the room as though there were 
something that she feared; then she sat on my 
knee and nestled close to me. She had ceased to 
sob now, but it was worse to me to see her face 
strained in silent agony and her eyes wept dry of 
tears. 

“ Let me stay here, do let me stay here a little,” 
she said as I passed my arm round her and her head 
fell on my shoulder. “ Don’t send me away yet, 
Augustin,” she whispered, “ I don’t want to be 
alone,” 


78 


THINGS NOT TO BE NOTICED 


“ Stay here, dearest, nobody shall hurt you,” said 
I, as I kissed her. My heart broke for her trouble, 
but it was sweet to me to think that she had fled 
from it to my arms. After all, the old bond held 
between us; the tug of trouble revealed it. She 
lay a while quite still with closed eyes ; then she 
opened her eyes and looked up at me. 

“ Must I ? ” she asked. 

“No,” I answered. “ If you will not, you shall 
not.” 

Her arm coiled closer round my neck and she 
closed her eyes again, sighing and moving restlessly. 
Presently she lay very quiet, her exhaustion seeming 
like sleep. How long had she tormented herself 
before she came to me? 

My brain was busy, but my heart outran it. Now, 
now if ever, I would assert myself, my power, my 
position. She should not call to me in vain. What 
I would do, I did not know ; but the thing she 
dreaded should not be. But although I was in this 
fever, I did not stir ; she was resting in peace ; let 
her rest as long as she would. For more than an 
hour she lay there in my arms ; I grew stiff and 
very weary, but I did not move. At last I believe 
that in very truth she slept. 

The clock in the tower struck midnight, and the 
quarter, and the half-hour. I had rehearsed what I 
should say to my mother and what to Hammer- 
feldt. I had dreamed how this night should knit 
her and me so closely that we could never again 
drift apart, that now we knew one another and for 
each of us what was superficial in the other existed 
no more, but was swept away by the flood of full 
sympathy. She and I against the world if need be! 

A shiver ran through her ; she opened her eyes 
79 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


wide and wider, looking round the room no longer 
in fear, but in a sort of wonder. Her gaze rested an 
instant on my face, she drew her arm from round 
my neck and rose to her feet, pushing away my arm. 
There she stood for a moment with a strange, fret- 
ful, ashamed look on her face. She tossed her head, 
flinging her hair back behind her shoulders. I had 
taken her hand and still held it ; now she drew it 
also away. 

“ What must you think of me ? ” she said. “ Good 
gracious, I’m in my nightgown.” 

She walked across to the looking-glass and stood 
opposite to it. 

“ What a fright I look ! ” she said. “ How long 
have I been here ? ” 

“ I don’t know ; more than an hour.” 

“It was horrid in bed to-night,” she said in a 
half-embarrassed yet half-absent way. “I got 
thinking about — about all sorts of things, and I was 
frightened.” 

The change in her mood sealed my lips. 

“ I hope mother hasn’t noticed that my room’s 
empty. No, of course not ; she must be in bed long 
ago. Will you take me back to my room, Augustin ? ” 

“Yes,” said I. 

She came up to me, looked at me for a moment, 
then bent down to me as I sat in my chair and 
kissed my forehead. 

“You’re a dear boy,” she said. “Was I quite 
mad?” 

“ I meant what I said,” I declared, as I stood up. 
“ I mean it still.” 

“Ah,” said she, flinging her hands out, “poor 
Augustin, you mean it still ! Take me along the 
corridor, dear, I’m afraid to go alone.” 

80 


THINGS NOT TO BE NOTICED 


Sometimes I blame myself that I submitted to the 
second mood as completely as I had responded to 
the first ; but I was staggered by the change, and 
the old sense of distance scattered for an hour was 
enveloping me again. 

One protest I made. 

“ Are we to do nothing, then ? ” I asked in a low 
whisper. 

“Were to go to our beds like good children,” 
said she with a mournful little smile. “ Come, take 
me to mine.” 

“ I must see you in the morning.” 

“ In the morning ? Well, we’ll see. Come, come.” 

Now she was urgent, and I did as she bade me. 
But first she made me bring her a pair of my slip- 
pers ; her feet were very cold, she said, and they felt 
like ice against my hand as I touched them in put- 
ting on the slippers for her. She passed her hand 
through my arm and we went together. The door 
of her room stood wide open ; we went in ; I saw 
the bed in confusion. 

“ Fancy if any one had come by and seen ! ” she 
whispered. “ Now, good-night, dear.” 

I opened my lips to speak to her again. 

“No, no; go, please go. Good-night, dear.” I 
left her standing in the middle of her room. Outside 
the door I waited many minutes ; I heard her mov- 
ing about and getting into bed ; then all was quiet ; 
I returned to my own room. 

I was up early the next morning, for I had been 
able to sleep but little. I wanted above all things 
to see Victoria again. But even while I was dressing 
Baptiste brought me a note. I opened it hurriedly, 
for it was from her. I read : 

“ Forget all about last night ; I was tired and ill. 

81 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


I rely on your honour to say nothing to anybody. 
I am all right this morning.” 

She was entitled to ask the pledge of my honour, 
if she chose. I tore the note in fragments and 
burned them. 

It was about eleven o’clock in the morning when 
I went out into the garden. There was a group on 
the terrace — my mother, Victoria, and William 
Adolphus. They were laughing and talking and 
seemed very merry. As a rule I should have waved 
a “good morning” and passed on for my solitary 
walk. To-day I went up to them. My mother 
appeared to be in an excellent temper, the Prince 
looked quite easy and happy. Victoria was a little 
pale but very vivacious. She darted a quick look 
at me, and cried out the moment I had kissed my 
mother : 

“ W e’re settling the bridesmaids ! Y ou’re just in 
time to help, Augustin.” 

We “ settled ” the bridesmaids. I hardly knew 
whether to laugh or to cry during this important 
operation. Victoria was very kind to her fiance, re- 
ceiving his suggestions with positive graciousness : 
he became radiant under this treatment. When our 
task was done, Victoria passed her arm through his, 
declaring that she wanted a stroll in the woods ; as 
they went by me she laid her hand lightly and affec- 
tionately on my arm, looking me full in the face 
the while. I understood ; for good or evil my lips 
were sealed. 

My mother looked after the betrothed couple as 
they walked away ; I looked at my mother’s fine, 
high-bred, resolute face. 

“ I’m so glad,” said she at last, “ to see Vic- 
toria so happy. I was afraid at one time that 
82 


THINGS NOT TO BE NOTICED 

she’d never take to it. Of course we had other 
hopes.” 

The last words were a hit at me. I ignored them ; 
that battle had been fought, the victory won, and 
paid for by me in handsome fashion. 

‘ 4 Has she taken to it ? ” I asked as carelessly as 
I could. But my mother’s eyes turned keenly on 
me. 

44 Have you any reason for thinking she hasn’t ? ” 
came in quick question. 

44 No,” I answered. 

The sun was shining and Princess Heinrich 
opened her parasol very leisurely. She rose to her 
feet and stood there for a moment. Then in a 
smooth, even, and what I may call reasonable voice, 
she remarked : 

44 My dear Augustin, from time to time all girls 
have fancies. We mothers know that it doesn’t do 
to pay any attention to them. They soon go if 
they’re let alone. W e shall meet at lunch, I hope ? ” 

I bowed respectfully, but perhaps I looked a little 
doubtful. 

44 It really doesn’t do to take any notice of them,” 
said my mother over her shoulder. 

So we took no notice of them ; my sister’s mid- 
night flight to my room and to my arms was be- 
tween her and me, and for all the world as though 
it has never been, save that it left behind it a little 
legacy of renewed kindliness and trust. For that 
much I was thankful ; but I could not forget the rest. 

A month later she was married to William Adol- 
phus at Forstadt. 


83 


CHAPTER VIII 


DESTINY IN A PINAFORE 

The foreign tour I undertook in my eighteenth 
year has been sufficiently, or even more than suf- 
ficiently, described by the accomplished and courtly 
pen of Vohrenlorf’s secretary. I travelled as the 
Count of Artenberg under my Governor’s guidance, 
and saw in some ways more, in some respects less, 
than most young men on their travels are likely to 
see. Old Hammerfeldt recommended for my read- 
ing the English letters of Lord Chesterfield to his 
son, and I studied them with some profit, much 
amusement, and an occasional burst of impatience ; 
I believe that in the Prince’s opinion I, like Mr. 
Stanhope, had hitherto attached too little impor- 
tance to, and not attained enough proficiency in, 
“ the graces ” ; concealment was the life’s breath of 
his statescraft, and “ the graces ” help a man to hide 
everything — ideals, emotions, passions, his very soul. 
It must have been an immense satisfaction to the 
Prince, on leaving the world at a ripe age, to feel 
that nobody had ever been sure that they under- 
stood him; except, of course, the fools who think 
that they understood everybody. 

As far as my private life is concerned, one inci- 
dent only on this expedition is of moment. We paid 
a visit to my father’s cousins, the Bartensteins, who 
possessed a singularly charming place in Tirol. The 
Duke was moderately rich, very able, and very in- 
dolent. He was a connoisseur in music and the arts. 

84 


DESTINY IN A PINAFORE 


His wife, my Cousin Elizabeth, was a very good- 
natured woman of seven or eight and thirty, noted 
for her dairy and fond of out-of-door pursuits ; her de- 
votion to these last had resulted in her complexion 
being rather reddened and weather-beaten. We 
were to stay a week, an unusually long halt; and 
even before we arrived I detected a simple slyness in 
my good Vohrenlorfs demeanour. When a secret 
was afoot, Vohrenlorfs first apparent effort was to 
draw everybody’s attention to the fact of its exist- 
ence. Out of perversity I asked no questions, and 
left him to seethe in his over-boiling mystery. I 
knew that I should be enlightened soon enough. 
I was quite right ; before I had been a day with my 
relatives it became obvious that Elsa was the mys- 
tery. I suppose that it is not altogether a common 
thing for a youth of eighteen, feeling himself a man, 
trying to think himself one, just become fully con- 
scious of the power and attraction of the women he 
meets, to be shown a child of twelve, and given to 
understand that in six years’ time she will be ready 
to become his wife. The position, even if not as 
uncommon as I suppose, is curious enough to jus- 
tify a few words of description. 

I saw Elsa first as she was rolling down a hill, 
with a scandalised governess in full chase. Elsa 
rolled quickly, marking her progress by triumphant 
cries. She “ brought up ” at the foot of the slope 
in an excessively crumpled state; her short skirts 
were being smoothed down when her mother and I 
arrived. She was a pretty, fair, blue-eyed child, 
with a natural merriment about her attractive 
enough. She was well made, having escaped the 
square solidity of figure that characterised Cousin 
Elizabeth. Her features were still in an undevel- 
85 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


oped condition, and her hair, brushed smooth and 
plastered down on her forehead, was tormented into 
ringlets behind. She looked at my lanky form with 
some apprehension. 

“Was it a good roll, Elsa ? ” I asked. 

“ Splendid ! ” she answered. 

“You didn’t know Cousin Augustin was looking 
on, did you ? ” asked her mother. 

“No, I didn’t.” But it was plain that she did 
not care either. 

I felt that Cousin Elizabeth’s honest eyes were 
searching my face. 

“ Give me a kiss, won’t you, Elsa ? ” I asked. 

Elsa turned her chubby cheek up to me in a per- 
fection of indifference. In fact, both Elsa and I 
were performing family duties. Thus we kissed 
for the first time. 

“ Now go and let nurse put on a clean frock for 
you,” said Cousin Elizabeth. “You’re to come 
downstairs to-day, and you’re not fit to be seem 
Don’t roll any more when you’ve changed your 
frock.” 

Elsa smiled, shook her head, and ran off. I gath- 
ered the impression that even in the clean frock she 
would roll again if she chanced to be disposed to 
that exercise. The air of Bartenstein was not the 
air of Artenberg. A milder climate reigned. There 
was no Styrian discipline for Elsa. I believe that 
in all her life she did at her parents’ instance only 
one thing that she seriously disliked. Cousin Eliza- 
beth and I walked on. 

“ She’s a baby still,” said Cousin Elizabeth pres- 
ently, “ but I assure you that she has begun to de- 
velop.” 

“ There’s no hurry, is there ? ” 

86 


DESTINY IN A PINAFORE 


“No. You know, I think you’re too old for 
your age, Augustin. I suppose it was inevitable." 

I felt much younger in many ways than I had at 
fifteen; the gates of the world were opening, and 
showing me prospects unknown to the lonely boy 
at Artenberg. 

“ And she has the sweetest disposition. So lov- 
ing ! ” said Cousin Elizabeth. 

I did not find anything appropriate to answer. 
The next day found me fully, although delicately, 
apprised of the situation. It seemed to me a 
strange one. The Duke was guarded in his hints, 
and profuse of declarations that it was too soon to 
think of anything. Good Cousin Elizabeth strove 
to conceal her eagerness and repress the haste born 
of it by similar but more clumsy speeches. I spoke 
openly on the subject to Vohrenlorf. 

“ Ah, well, even if it should be so, you have six 
years,” he reminded me in good-natured consola- 
tion. “ And she will grow up.” 

“ She won’t roll down hills always, of course,” I 
answered rather peevishly. 

In truth the thing would not assume an appear- 
ance of reality for me; it was too utterly opposed 
to the current of my thoughts and dreams. A 
boy of my age will readily contemplate marriage 
with a woman ten years his senior ; in regard to a 
child six years younger than himself the idea seems 
absurd. Yet I did not put it from me ; I had been 
well tutored in the strength of family arrange- 
ments, and the force of destiny had been brought 
home to me on several occasions. I had no doubt 
at all that my visit to Bartenstein was part of a de- 
liberate plan. The person who contrived my meet- 
ing with Elsa had a shrewd knowledge of my char- 
87 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


acter ; he knew that ideas long present in my mind 
became as it were domiciled there, and were hard 
to expel. I discovered afterward without surprise 
that the stay with my relatives was added to my 
tour at Prince von Hammerfeldt’s suggestion. 

Many men, or youths bordering on manhood, 
have seen their future brides in short frocks and un- 
mitigated childhood, but they have not been aware 
of what was before them. I was at once amused 
and distressed; my humour was touched, but life’s 
avenue seemed shortened. Even if it were not 
Elsa it would be some other little girl, now playing 
with her toys and rolling down banks. Imagina- 
tion was not elastic enough to leap over the years 
and behold the child transformed. I stuck in the 
present, and was whimsically apprehensive of a child 
seen through a magnifying glass, larger, but un- 
changed in form, air, and raiment. Was this my 
fate? And for it I must wait till the perfected 
beauties who had smiled on me passed on to other 
men, and with them grew old — aye, as it seemed, 
quite old. I felt myself ludicrously reduced to 
Elsa’s status; a long boy, who had outgrown his 
clothes, and yet was no nearer to a man. 

My trouble was, perhaps unreasonably, aggra- 
vated by the fact that Elsa did not take to me. I 
did my best to be pleasant ; I made her several 
gifts. She accepted my offerings, but was not 
bought by them ; myself she considered dull. I 
had not the flow of animal spirits that appeals so 
strongly to children. I played with her, but her 
young keenness detected the cloven hoof of duty. 
She told me I need not play unless I liked. Cousin 
Elizabeth apologised for me ; Elsa was gentle, but 
did not change her opinion. The passage of years, 
88 


DESTINY IN A PINAFORE 


I reflected, would increase in me all that the child 
found least to her taste. I was, as I have said, 
unable to picture her with tastes changed. But a 
failure of imagination may occasionally issue in par- 
adoxical rightness, for the imagination relies on the 
common run of events which the peculiar case may 
chance to contradict. As a fact, I do not think 
that Elsa ever did change greatly. I began to be 
sorry for her as well as for myself. Considered as 
an outlook in life, as the governing factor in a 
human being’s existence, I did not seem to myself 
brilliant or even satisfactory. I had at this time 
remarkable forecasts of feelings that were in later 
years to be my almost daily companions. 

“ And what shall your husband be like, Elsa? ” 
asked the Duke, as his little daughter sat on his 
knee and he played with her ringlets. 

I was sitting by, and the Duke’s eyes twinkled 
discreetly. The child looked across to me and 
studied my appearance for some few moments. 
Then she gave us a simple but completely lucid 
description of a gentleman differing from myself in 
all outward characteristics, and in all such inward 
traits as Elsa’s experience and vocabulary enabled 
her to touch upon. I learned later that she took 
hints from a tall grenadier who sometimes stood 
sentry at the castle. At the moment it seemed as 
though her ideal were well enough delineated by 
the picture of my opposite. The Duke laughed, 
and I laughed also ; Elsa was very grave and bus- 
iness-like in defining her requirements. Her in- 
clinations have never been obscure to her. Even 
then she knew perfectly well what she wanted, and 
I was not that. 

By the indiscretion of somebody (the Duke said 
89 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


his wife, his wife said the governess, the governess 
said the nurse) on the day before I went, Elsa got 
a hint of her suggested future. Indeed it was more 
than a hint ; it was enough to entangle her in ex- 
citement, interest, and, I must add, dismay. Chil- 
dren play with the words “wife” and “husband” 
in a happy ignorance ; their fairy tales give and re- 
strict their knowledge. Cousin Elizabeth came to 
me in something of a stir ; she was afraid that I 
should be annoyed, should suspect, perhaps, a forc- 
ing of my hand, or some such manoeuvre. But I 
was not annoyed; I was interested to learn what 
effect the prospect had upon my little cousin. I 
was so different from the Grenadier, so irreconcil- 
able with Elsa’s fancy portrait. 

“ I’m very terribly vexed ! ” cried Cousin Eliza- 
beth. “ When it’s all so — all no more than an 
idea!” 

“ She’s so young she’ll forget all about it,” said I 
soothingly. 

“ You’re not angry? ” 

“ Oh, no. I was only afflicted with a sense of 
absurdity.” 

Chance threw me in Elsa’s way that afternoon. 
She was with her nurse in the gardens. She ran 
up to me at once, but stopped about a yard from 
the seat on which I was sitting. I became the vic- 
tim of a grave, searching, and long inspection. 
There was a roundness of surprise in her baby blue 
eyes. Embarrassed and amused (I am inclined 
sometimes to think that more than half my life has 
been a mixture of these not implacable enemies), I 
took the bull by the horns. 

“I’m thin, and sallow, and hook-nosed, and I 
can’t sing, and I don’t laugh in a jolly way, and I 
90 


DESTINY IN A PINAFORE 


can’t fly kites,” said I, having the description of her 
ideal in my mind. “ You wouldn’t like me to be 
your husband, would you ? ” 

Elsa, unlike myself, was neither embarrassed nor 
amused. The mild and interested gravity of her 
face persisted unchanged. 

“ I don’t know,” she said meditatively. 

With most of the faults that can beset one of 
my station, I do not plead guilty to any excessive 
degree of vainglory. I was flattered that the child 
hesitated. 

“ Then you like me rather ? ” I asked. 

“Yes — rather.” She paused, and then added: 
“ If I married you I should be queen, shouldn’t I, 
Cousin Augustin? ” 

“ Yes,” I assured her. 

“ I should think that’s rather nice, isn’t it?” 

“ It isn’t any particular fun being king,” said I 
in a burst of confidence. 

“ Isn’t it ? ” she asked, her eyes growing rounder. 
“ Still, I think I should like it.” Her tone was 
quite confident; even at that age, as I have ob- 
served, she knew very well what she liked. For 
my part I remembered so vividly my own early 
dreams and later awakenings that I would not cut 
short her guileless visions ; moreover, to generalise 
from one’s self is the most fatal foolishness, even 
while it is the most inevitable. 

During the remaining hours of my visit Elsa 
treated me, I must not say with more affection, but 
certainly with more attention. She was interested 
in me ; I had become to her a source of possibilities, 
dim to vision but gorgeous to imagination. I knew 
so well the images that floated before a childish 
mind, able to gape at them, only half able to grasp 
91 


THE KING S MIRROR 


them. I had been through this stage. It is odd to 
reflect that I was in an unlike but almost equally 
great delusion myself. I had ceased to expect im- 
moderate enjoyment from my position, but I had 
conceived an exaggerated idea of its power and in- 
fluence on the world and mankind. Of this mis- 
take I was then unconscious; I smiled to think 
that Elsa could play at being a queen, the doll, the 
bolster, the dog, or whatever else might chance to 
come handy acting the regal role in my place. I 
do not now altogether quarrel with my substitutes. 

The hour of departure came. I have a vivid 
recollection of Cousin Elizabeth’s overwhelming 
tact ; she was so anxious that I should not exag- 
gerate the meaning or importance of the sugges- 
tion which had been made, that she succeeded in 
filling my mind with it, to the exclusion of every- 
thing else. The Duke, having tried in vain to stop 
her, fell into silence, cigarettes, and drolly resigned 
glances. But he caught me alone for a few mo- 
ments, and gave me his word of advice. 

“ Think no more about this nonsense for six 
years,” said he. ‘‘The women will match-make, 
you know.” 

I promised, with a laugh, not to anticipate 
troubles. He smiled at my phrase, but did not 
dispute its justice. I think he shared the sort of 
regret which I felt, that such things should be so 
much as talked about in connection with Elsa. A 
man keeps that feeling about his daughter long 
after her mother has marked a husband and chosen 
a priest. 

My visit to my cousins was the last stage of my 
journey. From their house Vohrenlorf and I trav- 
elled through to Forstadt. I was received at the 

92 


DESTINY IN A PINAFORE 


railway station by a large and distinguished com- 
pany. My mother was at Artenberg, where I was 
to join her that evening, but Hammerfeldt awaited 
me, and some of the gentlemen attached to the 
Court. I was too much given to introspection 
and self- appraisement not to be aware that my ex- 
periences had given me a lift toward manhood ; my 
shyness was smothered, though not killed, by a 
kind of mechanical ease born of practice. After 
greeting Hammerfeldt I received the welcome of 
the company with a composed courtesy of which 
the Prince’s approval was very manifest. Cere- 
monial occasions such as these are worthy of rec- 
ord and meditation only when they surround, and, 
as it were, frame some incident really material. 
Such an incident occurred now. My inner mind 
was still full of my sojourn with the Bartensteins, 
of the pathetic, whimsical, hypothetical connection 
between little Elsa and myself, and of the chains 
that seemed to bind my life in bonds not of my 
making. These reflections went on in an under- 
current while I was bowing, saluting, grasping 
hands, listening and responding to appropriate ob- 
servations. Suddenly I found the Count von Sem- 
pach before me. His name brought back my mind 
in an instant from its wanderings. The Countess 
was recalled very vividly to my recollection; I 
asked after her ; Sempach, much gratified, pointed 
to a row of ladies who (the occasion being official) 
stood somewhat in the background. There she 
was, now in the maturity of her remarkable beauty, 
seeming to me the embodiment of perfect accom- 
plishment. I saluted her with marked gracious- 
ness ; fifty heads turned instantly from me toward 
her. She blushed very slightly and courtesied very 
7 93 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


low. Sempach murmured gratification ; Hammer- 
feldt smiled. I was vaguely conscious of a subdued 
sensation running all through the company, but my 
mind was occupied with the contrast between this 
finished woman and the little girl I had left behind. 
From feeling old, too old, sad, and knowing for 
poor little Elsa, I was suddenly transported into 
an oppressive consciousness of youth and rawness. 
Involuntarily I drew myself up to my full height 
and assumed the best air of dignity that was at my 
command. So posed, I crossed the station to my 
carriage between Hammerfeldt and Vohrenlorf. 

“ Your time has not been wasted,” old Ham- 
merfeldt whispered to me. “You are ready now 
to take up what I am more than ready to lay 
down.” 

I started slightly ; I had for the moment forgot- 
ten that the Council of Regency was now dis- 
charged of its office, and that I was to assume the 
full burden of my responsibilities. I had looked 
forward to this time with eagerness and ambition. 
But a man’s emotions at a given moment are very 
seldom what he has expected them to be. Some 
foreign thought intrudes and predominates ; some- 
thing accidental supplants what has seemed so ap- 
propriate and certain. While I travelled down to 
Artenberg that evening, with Vohrenlorf opposite 
to me (Vohrenlorf who himself was about to lay 
down his functions), the assumption of full power 
was not what occupied my mind. I was engrossed 
with thoughts of Elsa, with fancies about my 
Countess, with strange dim speculations that 
touched me — the young man, not the king about 
whom all the coil was. Had I been called upon 
to condense those vague meditations and emotions 
94 


DESTINY IN A PINAFORE 


into a sentence, I would have borrowed what 
Vohrenlorf had said to me when we were with the 
Bartensteins. He did not often hit the nail exact- 
ly on the head, but just now I could give no better 
summary of all I felt than his soberly optimistic 
reminder : “ Ah, well, even if it should be so, you 
have six years ! ’ ’ 

The thought that I treasured on the way to 
Artenberg that evening was the thought of my six 
years. 


35 


CHAPTER IX 


JUST WHAT WOULD HAPPEN 

Soon after my return my mother and I went into 
residence at Forstadt. My time was divided be- 
tween mastering my public duties under Hammer- 
feldt’s tuition, and playing a prominent part in the 
gaieties of the capital. Just now I was on cordial, 
if not exactly intimate, terms with the Princess. 
She appeared to have resigned herself to Hammer- 
feldt’s preponderating influence in political affairs, 
and to accept in compensation the office of mentor 
and guide in all social matters. I was happy in 
the establishment of a modus vivendi which left me 
tolerably free from the harassing trifles of ceremo- 
nial and etiquette. To Hammerfeldt’s instructions 
I listened with avidity and showed a deference 
which did not forbid secret criticism. He worked 
me hard ; the truth is (and it was not then hidden 
either from him or from me) that his strength was 
failing; age had not bent, but it threatened to 
break him; the time was short in which he could 
hope to be by my side, binding his principles and 
rivetting his methods on me. He was too shrewd 
not to detect in me a curiosity of intellect that 
only the strongest and deepest prepossessions could 
restrain ; these it was his untiring effort to create 
in my mind and to buttress till they were impreg- 
nable. To some extent he attained his object, but 
his success was limited; and his teaching affected 
by what I can only call a modernness of tempera- 
96 


JUST WHAT WOULD HAPPEN 


ment in me, which no force of tradition wholly 
destroyed or stifled. That many things must be 
treated as beyond question was the fruit of his 
maxims ; it is a position which I have never been 
able to adopt ; with me the acid of doubt bit into 
every axiom. I took pleasure in the society and 
arguments of the liberal politicians and journalists 
who began to frequent the court as soon as a ru- 
mour of my inclinations spread. I became the 
centre and object of a contention between the 
Right and the Left, between Conservative and 
Liberal forces — or, if I apply to each party the 
nickname accorded to it by the enemy, between 
the Reaction and the Revolution. 

Doubtless all this will find an accomplished, and 
possibly an impartial, historian. Its significance for 
these personal memoirs is due chiefly to the ac- 
cidental fact that, whereas my mother w T as the 
social centre of the orthodox party and in that ca- 
pacity gave solid aid to Hammerfeldt, the unortho- 
dox gathered round the Countess von Sempach. 
Her husband was considered no more than a good 
soldier, a man of high rank, and a devoted hus- 
band ; by her own talents and charm this remark- 
able woman, although a foreigner, had achieved 
for herself a position of great influence. She re- 
newed the glories of the political salon in Forstadt ; 
but she never talked politics. Eminent men dis- 
cussed deep secrets with one another in her rooms. 
She was content to please their taste without strain- 
ing their intellects or seeking to rival them in ar- 
gument. By the abdication of a doubtful claim 
she reigned absolute in her own dominion. It 
was from studying her that I first learned both 
how far-reaching is the inspiration of a woman’s 
97 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


personality, and how it gathers and conserves 
strength by remaining within its own boundaries 
and refusing alien conquests. The men of the 
Princess’s party, from Hammerfeldt downward, 
were sometimes impatient of her suggestions and 
attempted control; the Countess’s friends were 
never aware that they received suggestions, and 
imagined themselves to exercise control. I think 
that the old Prince was almost alone in penetra- 
ting the secret of the real power his charming en- 
emy exercised and the extent of it. They were 
very cordial to one another. 

“Madame,” he said to her once, “you might 
convince me of anything if I were not too old.” 

“ Why, Prince, ” she cried, “ you are not going 
to pretend that your mind has grown old ? ” 

“ No, Countess, my feelings,” he replied with a 
smile. Her answer was a blush. 

This was told to me by Wetter, a young and 
very brilliant journalist who had once given me 
lessons in philosophy, and with whom I maintained 
a friendship in spite of his ultra-radical politics. 
He reminded me now and then of Geoffrey Owen, 
but his enthusiasm was of a dryer sort ; not hu- 
manity, but the abstract idea of progress inspired 
him ; not the abolition of individual suffering, but 
the perfecting of his logical conceptions in the 
sphere of politics was his stimulating hope. And 
there was in him a strong alloy of personal am- 
bition and a stronger of personal passion. Rather 
to my surprise Hammerfeldt showed no uneasiness 
at my friendship with him; I joked once on the 
subject and he answered : 

“ Wetter only appeals to your intellect, sire. 
There I am not afraid now. ’ 


JUST WHAT WOULD HAPPEN 


His answer, denying one apprehension, hinted 
another. It will cause no surprise that I had re- 
newed an old acquaintance with the Countess, and 
had been present at a dinner in her house. More 
that this, I fell into the habit of attending her re- 
ceptions on Wednesdays; on this night all parties 
were welcome, and the gathering was by way of 
being strictly non-political. Strictly non-political 
also were the calls that I made in the dusk of the 
evening, when she would recall our earlier meet- 
ings, our glances exchanged, our thoughts of one 
another, and lead me to talk of my boyhood. 
These things did not appeal only to the intellect of 
a youth of eighteen or nineteen when they pro- 
ceeded from the lips of a beautiful and brilliant 
woman of twenty-eight. 

I approach a very common occurrence ; but in 
my case its progress and result were specially modi- 
fied and conditioned. There was the political aspect, 
looming large to the alarmed Right ; there was the 
struggle for more intimate influence over me, in 
which my mother fought with a grim intensity ; in 
my own mind there was always the curious dim pres- 
ence of an inexorable fate that wore the incongru- 
ous mask of Elsa’s baby face. All these were present 
to me in their full force during the earlier period of 
my friendship with the Countess, when I was still 
concealing from myself as well as from her and all 
the world that I could ever desire to have more than 
friendship. The first stages past, there came a time 
when the secret was still kept from all save myself, 
but when I knew it with an exultation not to be 
conquered, with a dread and a shame that tormented 
while they could not prevail. But I went more and 
more to her house. I had no evil intent ; nay, I had 
99 


THE KING S MIRROR 


no intent at all in my going ; I could not keep away. 
She alone had come to satisfy me; with her alone, 
all of me — thoughts, feelings, eyes, and ears — 
seemed to find some cause for exercise and a worthy 
employment of their life. The other presences in 
my mind grew fainter and intermittent in their 
visits ; I gave myself up to the stream and floated 
down the current. Yet I was never altogether for- 
getful nor blind to what I did ; I knew the trans- 
formation that had come over my friendship; to 
myself now I could not but call it love ; I knew that 
others in the palace, in the chancellery, in drawing- 
rooms, in newspaper offices, ay, perhaps even in the 
very street, called it now, not the king’s friendship 
nor the king’s love, but the king’s infatuation. Not 
even then could I lose altogether the external 
view of myself. 

We were sitting by the fire one evening in the 
twilight ; she was playing with a hand-screen, but 
suffering the flames to paint her face and throw into 
relief the sensitive merry lips and the eyes so full of 
varied meanings. She had told me to go, and I had 
not gone ; she leaned back and, after one glance of 
reproof, fixed her regard on the polished tip of her 
shoe that rested on the fender. She meant that she 
would talk no more to me ; that in her estimation, 
since I had no business to stay, I was already gone. 
An impulse seized me. I do not know what I 
hoped nor why that moment broke the silence which 
I had imposed on myself. But I told her about the 
little, fair, chubby child at the Castle of Bartenstein. 
I watched her closely, but her eyes never strayed 
from her shoe-tip. Well, she had never said a word 
that showed any concern in such a matter ; even I 
had done little more than look and hint and come. 
100 


JUST WHAT WOULD HAPPEN 


“ It’s as if they meant me to marry Tote,” I 
ended. Tote was the pet name by which we called 
her own eight-year-old daughter. 

The Countess broke her wilful silence, but did 
not change the direction of her eyes. 

“ If Tote were of the proper station,” she said 
ironically, “ she’d be just right for you by the time 
you’re both grown up.” 

“ And you’d be mother-in-law ? ” 

“ I should be too old to plague you. I should 
just sit in my corner in the sun.” 

“ The sun is always in your corner.” 

“Don’t be so complimentary,” she said with a 
sudden twitching of her lips. “ I shall have to stand 
up and courtesy, and I don’t want to. Besides, you 
oughtn’t to know how to say things like that, ought 
you, Caesar ? ” 

Caesar was my — shall I say pet-name ? — used 
when we were alone or with Count Max, only in a 
playful satire. 

A silence followed for some time. At last she 
glanced toward me. 

“Not gone yet?” said she, raising her brows. 
“ What will the Princess say ? ” 

“ I go when I please,” said I, resenting the ques- 
tion as I was meant to resent it. 

“Yes. Certainly not when I please.” 

Our eyes met now ; suddenly she blushed, and 
then interposed the screen between herself and 
me. A glorious thrill of youthful triumph ran 
through me; she had paid her first tribute to my 
manhood in that blush ; the offering was small, 
but, for its significance, frankincense and myrrh 
to me. 

“I thought you came to talk about Wetter’s 
101 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


Bill,” she suggested presently in a voice lower than 
her usual tones. 

“ The deuce take W etter’s Bill,” said I. 

“ I am very interested in it.” 

“Just now? ” 

“ Even just now, Caesar.” I heard a little laugh 
behind the screen. 

“ Hammerfeldt hates it,” said I. 

“ Oh, then that settles it. You’ll be against us, 
of course ! ” 

“ Why of course ? ” 

“You always do as the Prince tells you, don’t 
you ? ” 

“ Unless somebody more powerful forbids me.” 

“Who is more powerful — except Caesar him- 
self? ” 

I made no answer, but I rose and, crossing the 
rug, stood by her. I remember the look and the 
feel of the room very well ; she lay back in a low 
chair upholstered in blue ; the firelight, forbidden 
her face, played on the hand that held the screen, 
flushing its white to red. I could see her hair 
gleaming in the fantastically varying light that the 
flames gave as they left and fell. I was in a tumult 
of excitement and timidity. 

‘ ‘ More powerful than Csesar ? ” I asked, and my 
voice shook. 

“Don’t call yourself Csesar.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

There was a momentary hesitation before the 
answer came low: 

“ Because you mustn’t laugh at yourself. I may 
laugh at you, but you mustn’t yourself.” 

I wondered at the words, the tone, the strange 
diffidence that infected even a speech so full of her 
102 


JUST WHAT WOULD HAPPEN 


gay bravery. A moment later she added a reason 
for her command. 

“You’re so absurd that you mustn’t laugh at 
yourself. And, Caesar, if you stay any longer, 
or — come again soon — other people will laugh at 
you.” 

To this day I do not know whether she meant 
to give a genuine warning, or to strike a chord that 
should sound back defiance. 

‘ ‘ If ten thousand of them laugh, what is it to 
me? They dare laugh only behind my back,” I 
said. 

She laughed before my face ; the screen fell, and 
she laughed, saying softly, “ Caesar, Caesar ! ” 

I was wonderfully happy in my perturbation. 
The great charm she had for me was to-day 
alloyed less than ever before by the sense of raw- 
ness which she, above all others, could compel me 
to feel. To-day she herself was not wholly calm, 
not mistress of herself without a struggle, without 
her moments of faintness. Yet now she appeared 
composed again, and there was nothing but merri- 
ment in her eyes. She seemed to have forgotten 
that I was supposed to be gone. I daresay that 
not to her, any more than to myself, could I seem 
quite like an ordinary boy ; perhaps the more I 
forgot what was peculiar about me the more she 
remembered it, my oblivion serving to point her 
triumph. 

“ And the Princess ? ” she asked, laughing still, 
but now again a little nervously. 

My exultation, finding vent in mischief and im- 
pelled by curiosity, drove me to a venture. 

“I shall tell the Princess that I kissed you,” 
said I. 


103 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


The Countess suddenly sat upright. 

“And that you kissed me — several times,” I 
continued. 

“ How dare you? ” she cried in a whisper ; and 
her cheeks flamed in blushes and in firelight. My 
little device was a triumph. I began to laugh. 

“ Oh, of course, if she asks me when,” I added, 
“ I shall confess that it was ten years ago.” 

Many emotions mingled in my companion’s 
glance as she sank back in her chair ; she was in- 
dignant at the trap, amused at having been caught 
in it, not fully relieved from embarrassment, not 
wholly convinced that the explanation of my daring 
speech covered all the intent with which it had 
been uttered, perhaps not desirous of being con- 
vinced too thoroughly. A long pause followed. 
Timidity held me back from further advance. For 
that evening enough seemed to have passed ; I had 
made a start — to go further might be to risk all. 
I was about to take my leave when she looked up 
again, saying : 

44 And about Wetter’s Bill, Csesar? ” 

44 You know I can do nothing.” 

44 Can Cassar do nothing? If you were known 
to favour it fifty votes would be changed.” Her 
face was eager and animated. I looked down at 
her and smiled. She flushed again, and cried 
hastily : 

“No, no, never mind; at least, not to-night.” 

I suppose that my smile persisted, and was not 
a mirthful one. It stirred anger and resentment 
in her. 

44 1 know why you’re smiling,” she exclaimed. 
44 1 suppose that when I was kind to you as a 
baby, I wanted something from you too, did I ? ” 
104 


JUST WHAT WOULD HAPPEN 


She had detected the thought that had come so 
inevitably into my mind, that she should resent it 
so passionately almost persuaded me of its injustice. 
I turned from it to the pleasant memory of her 
earlier impulsive kindness. I put out my hands 
and grasped hers. She let me hold them for an 
instant and then drew them away. She gave 
rather a forced laugh. 

“ You’re too young to be bothered about Bills,” 
she said, “ and too young for — for all sorts of other 
things, too. Run away ; never mind me with my 
Bills and my wrinkles.” 

“ Your wrinkles ! ” 

“ Oh, if not now, in a year or two ; by the time 
you’re ready to marry Elsa.” 

As she spoke she rose and stood facing me. A 
new sense of her beauty came over me ; her 
beauty’s tragedy, already before her eyes, was to 
me remote and impossible. Because it was not yet 
very near she exaggerated its nearness ; because it 
was inevitable I turned away from it. Indeed, 
who could remember, seeing her then ? Who save 
herself, as she looked on my youth ? 

“You’ll soon be old and ugly?” I asked, 
laughing. 

“Yes, soon; it will seem very soon to you.” 

“ What’s the moral ? ” said I. 

She laughed uneasily, twisting the screen in her 
hands. For an instant she raised her eyes to mine, 
and as they dropped again she whispered : 

“ A short life and a merry one ? ” 

My hand flew out to her again; she took it, 
and, after a laughing glance, courtesied low over it, 
as though in formal farewell. I had not meant 
that, and laughed in my turn. 

105 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ I shan’t be old— well, by to-morrow,” she 
murmured, and glanced ostentatiously at the 
clock. 

44 May I come to-morrow? ” 

44 1 never invite you.” 

44 Shall you be here ? ” 

44 It’s not one of my receiving days.” 

44 1 like a good chance better than a poor cer- 
tainty. At least there will be nobody else here.” 

44 Max, perhaps.” 

44 1 don’t think so.” 

44 You don’t think so? What do you mean by 
that, Cassar? No, I don’t want to know. I be- 
lieve it was impertinent. Are you going ? ” 

44 Yes,” said I, 44 when I have kissed your hand.” 

She said nothing, but held it out to me. She 
smiled, but there seemed to me to be pain in her 
eyes. 1 pressed her hand to my lips and went out 
without speaking again. As I closed the door I 
heard her fling herself back into her chair with a 
curious little sound, half-cry, half-sigh. 

I left the house quickly and silently ; no servant 
was summoned to escort me. I walked a few 
yards along the street to where W etter lived. My 
carriage was ordered to come for me at Wetter ’s ; 
it had not yet arrived. To be known to visit 
Wetter was to accept the blame of a smaller indis- 
cretion as the price of hiding a greater. The dep- 
uty was at home, writing in his study; he received 
me with an admirable unconsciousness of where I 
had come from. I was still in a state of excite- 
ment, and was glad to sit smoking quietly while 
his animated, fluent talk ran on. He was full of 
this Bill of his, and explained its provisions to me 
with the air of desiring that I should understand, 
m 


JUST WHAT WOULD HAPPEN 


its spirit and aim, and of being willing then to 
leave it to my candid consideration. He did not 
attempt to blink the difficulties. 

“Of course we have the Prince and all the 
party of Reaction against us,” he said. “But 
your Majesty is not a member of any party.” 

“Not even of yours yet,” said I with a laugh. 

He laughed in his turn, openly and merrily. 

“I’m a poor schemer,” he said. “But I don’t 
know why it should be wrong for you to hear my 
views any more than Hammerfeldt’s.” 

The servant entered and announced the arrival 
of my carriage. Wetter escorted me to it. 

“I’ll promise not to mention the Bill, if you’ll 
honour me by coming again, sire,” he said as he held 
the brougham door. 

“ I shall be delighted to come again ; I like to 
hear about it,” I answered. His bow and smile 
conveyed absolutely nothing but a respectful grat- 
ification and a friendly pleasure. Yet he knew 
that the situation of his house was more responsible 
for my visit than the interest of his projects. 

In part I saw clear enough even at this time. It 
was the design and hope of W etter and his friends 
to break down Hammerfeldt’s power and obtain a 
political influence over me. Hammerfeldt’s polit- 
ical dominance seemed to them to be based on a 
personal ascendency ; this they must contrive to 
match. Their instrument was not far to seek. The 
Countess was ready to their hand, a beautiful wom- 
an, sharpest weapon of all in such a strife. They 
put her forward against the Prince in the fight 
whereof I was the prize. All this I saw, against it 
all I was forewarned, and forearmed. Knowledge 
gave security. But there was more, and here with 
107 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


the failure of insight safety was compromised. 
What was her mind? What was her part, not as 
it seemed to these busy politicians, but as her own 
heart taught it her? Here came to me the excite- 
ment of uncertainty, the impulse of youth, the prick 
of vanity, the longing for that intimate love of which 
my life had given me so little. Was I to her also 
only something to be used in the game of politics, 
a tool that she, a defter tool, must shape and point 
before it could be of use ? I tried to say this to 
myself and to make a barrier of the knowledge. 
But was it all the truth ? Remembering her eyes 
and tones, her words and hesitations, I could not 
accept it for the whole truth. There was more, 
what more I knew not. Even if there had been no 
more I was falling so deep into the gulf of passion 
that it crossed my mind to take while I gave ; and, 
if I were to be used, to exact my hire. In a tu- 
mult of these thoughts, embracing now what in the 
next moment I rejected, revolting in a sudden fear 
from the plan which just before seemed so attractive, 
I passed the evening and the night. For I had 
taken up that mixed heritage of good and evil, of 
pain and power, that goes by the name of manhood ; 
and when a new heir enters on his inheritance there 
is a time before he can order it. 


108 


CHAPTER X 


OF A POLITICAL APPOINTMENT 

A few days later my mother informed me that 
Victoria and her husband had proposed to pay us a 
long visit. I could make no objection. Princess 
Heinrich observed that I should be glad to see Vic- 
toria again, and should enjoy the companionship of 
William Adolphus. In my mind I translated her 
speech into a declaration that Victoria might have 
some influence over me although my mother had 
none, and that William Adolphus would be more 
wholesome company than my countesses and Wet- 
ters and such riff-raff. I was unable to regard Wil- 
liam Adolphus as an intellectual resource, and did 
not associate Victoria with the exercise of influence. 
The weakness of the Princess’s new move revealed 
the straits to which she felt herself reduced. The 
result of the position which I have described was 
almost open strife between her and me ; Hammer- 
feldt’s powerful bridle alone held her back from de- 
clared rupture. His method of facing the danger 
was very different. He sought to exercise no veto, 
but he kept watch ; he knew where I went, but 
made no objection to my going; any liberal notions 
which I betrayed in conversation with him he received 
with courteous attention, and affected to consider 
the result of my own meditations. Had my feel- 
ings been less deeply involved I think his method 
would have succeeded ; even as it was he checked 
and retarded what he could not stop. The cordial- 
8 109 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


ity of our personal relations remained unbroken and 
so warm that he felt himself able to speak to me in 
a half-serious, half-jesting way about the Countess 
von Sempach. 

“ A most charming woman indeed,” said he. “ In 
fact, too charming a woman.” 

I understood him, and began to defend myself. 

“ I’m not in love with the Countess, ” I said ; 
“ but I give her my confidence, Prince.” 

He shook his head, smiled, and took a pinch of 
snuff, glancing at me humorously. 

“Reverse it,” he suggested. “Be in love with 
her, but don’t give her your confidence. You’ll find 
it safer and also more pleasant that way.” 

My confidence might affect high matters, my 
love he regarded as a passing fever. He did not 
belong to an age of strict morality in private life, 
and his bent of mind was utterly opposed to consid- 
ering an intrigue with a woman of the Countess’s 
attractions as a serious crime in a young man of my 
position. “ Hate her,” was my mother’s impossible 
exhortation. “ Love her, but don’t trust her, ” was 
the Prince’s subtle counsel. He passed at once 
from the subject, content with the seed that he had 
sown. There was much in him and in his teaching 
which one would defend to-day at some cost of rep- 
utation; but I never left him without a heightened 
and enhanced sense of my position and my obliga- 
tions. If you will, he lowered the man to exalt 
the king ; this was of a piece with all his wily com- 
promises. 

Victoria arrived, and her husband. William 
Adolphus’s attitude was less apologetic than it had 
been before marriage ; he had made Victoria mother 
to a fine baby, and claimed the just credit, He was 
no 


OF A POLITICAL APPOINTMENT 


jovial, familiar, and, if I may so express myself, 
brotherly to the last degree. Happily, however, he 
interpreted his more assured position as enabling 
him to choose his own friends and his own pursuits ; 
these were not mine, and in consequence I was lit- 
tle troubled with his company. As an ally to my 
mother he was a passive failure ; his wife was worse 
than inactive. Victoria’s conduct displayed the 
height of unwisdom. She denounced the Countess 
to my face, and besought my mother to omit the 
Sempachs from her list of acquaintances. Fortu- 
nately the Princess had been dissuaded from forcing 
on an open scandal ; my sister had to be content 
with matching her mother’s coldness by her rude- 
ness when the Countess came to Court. Need I 
say that my attentions grew the more marked, and 
gossip even more rife ? 

Wetter ’s Bill came up for discussion, and was 
hurled in vain against Hammerfeldt’s solid phalanx 
of country gentlemen and wealthy bourgeoisie . I had 
kept a seal on my lips, and in common opinion was 
still the Prince’s docile disciple. W etter accepted 
my attitude with easy friendliness, but he ventured 
to observe that if any case arose which enabled me 
to show that my hostility to his party was not in- 
veterate, the proof would be a pleasure to him and 
his friends, and possibly of no disadvantage to me. 
Not the barest reference to the Countess pointed 
his remark. I had not seen her or heard from her 
for nearly a week ; on the afternoon of the day after 
the Bill was thrown out I decided to pay her a visit. 
Wetter was to take luncheon at her house, and I 
allowed him to drop a hint of my coming. I felt 
that I had done my duty as regards the Bill ; I was 
very apprehensive of my reception by the Countess, 
ill 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


The opposition that encircled me inflamed my pas- 
sion for her; the few days’ separation had served to 
convince me that I could not live without her. 

I found her alone ; her face was a little flushed 
and her eyes bright. The moment the door was 
shut she turned on me almost fiercely. 

“ Why did you send to say you were coming ? ” 

“ I didn’t send ; I told Wetter. Besides, I always 
send before I go anywhere.” 

“ Not always before you come to me,” she re- 
torted. “ You’re not to hide behind your throne, 
Caesar. I was going out if you hadn’t prevented 
me.” 

“ The hindrance need not last a moment,” said I, 
bowing. 

She looked at me for an instant, then broke into 
a reluctant smile. 

“You haven’t sent to say you were coming for a 
week,” she said. 

“No; nor come either.” 

“ Yes, of course, that’s it. Sit down ; so will I. 
No, in your old place, over there. Max has been 
giving me a beautiful bracelet.” 

“ That’s very kind of Max.” 

She glanced at me with challenging witchery. 

“ And I’ve promised to wear it every day — never 
to be without it. Doesn’t it look well ? ” She held 
up her arm where the gold and jewels sparkled on 
the white skin as the sleeve of her gown fell back. 

I paid to Max’s bracelet and the arm which wore 
it the meed of looks, not of words. 

“ I’ve been afraid to come,” I said. 

“ Is there anything to be afraid of here? ” she 
asked with a smile and a wave of her hands. 

“ Because of Wetter’s Bill.” 

112 


OF A POLITICAL APPOINTMENT 


“ Oh, the Bill ! You were very cowardly, Cassar.” 

“ I could do nothing.” 

“You never can, it seems to me.” She fixed on 
me eyes that she had made quite grave and invested 
with a critically discriminating regard. “ But I’m 
very pleased to see you. Oh, and I forgot — of 
course I’m very much honoured too. I’m always 
forgetting what you are.” 

On an impulse of chagrin at the style of her re- 
ception, or of curiosity, or of bitterness, I spoke the 
thought of my mind. 

“ Y ou never forget it for a moment,” I said. “ I 
forget it, not you.” 

She covered a start of surprise by a hasty and 
pretty little yawn, but her eyes were inquisitive, al- 
most apprehensive. After a moment she picked up 
her old weapon, the firescreen, and hid her face from 
the eyes downward. But the eyes were set on me, 
and now, it seemed, in reproach. 

“ If you think that, I wonder you come at all,” 
she murmured. 

“ I don’t want you to forget it. But I’m some- 
thing besides.” 

“Yes, a poor boy with a cruel mother — and a 
rude sister — and — ” She sprang suddenly to her 
feet. “ And,” she went on, “ a charming old ad- 
viser. Caesar, I met Prince von Hammerfeldt. 
Shall I tell you what he said to me ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ He bowed over my hand and kissed it and 
smiled, and twinkled with his old eyes, and then he 
said, ‘ Madame, I am growing vain of my influence 
over his Majesty.’” 

“ The Prince was complimenting you,” I re- 
marked, although I was not so dull as to miss 
113 


THE KING’S MIRROR 

either Hammerfeldt’s mockery or her understand- 
ing of it. 

“ Complimenting me? Yes, I suppose he was — 
on not having done you any harm. Why ? Because 
I couldn’t!” 

44 You wouldn’t wish to, Countess ? ” 

“No ; but I might wish to be able to, Cassar.” 

She stood there the embodiment of a power the 
greater because it feigned distrust of its own might. 

“No, I don’t mean that,” she continued a mo- 
ment later. “But I should — ” She drew near 
to me and, catching up a little chair, sat down on 
it, close to my elbow. “ Ah, how I should like the 
Prince to think I had a little power ! ” Then in a 
low coaxing whisper she added, “ You need only to 
pretend — pretend a little just to please me, Caesar.” 

“ And what will you do just to please me. Coun- 
tess?” My whisper was low also, but full where 
hers had been delicate; rough, not gentle, urging 
rather than imploring. I was no match for her in 
the science of which she was mistress, but I did not 
despair. She seemed nervous, as though she dis- 
trusted even her keen thrusts and ready parries. I 
was but a boy still, but sometimes nature betrays 
the secrets of experience. Suddenly she broke out 
in a new attack, or a new line of the general attack. 

“Wouldn’t you like to show a little indepen- 
dence ? ” she asked. 4 4 The Prince would like you all 
the better for it.” She looked in my face. “ And 
people would think more of you. They say that 
Hammerfeldt is the real king now — or he and Prin- 
cess Heinrich between them.” 

“ I thought they said that you ” 

44 1 ! Do they ? Perhaps ! They know so little. 
If they knew anything they couldn’t say that.” 

114 


OF A POLITICAL APPOINTMENT 

To be told they gossiped of her influence seemed 
to have no terror for her ; her regret was that the 
talk should be all untrue and she in fact impotent. 
She stirred me to declare that power was hers and 
I her servant. It seemed to me that to accept her 
leading was to secure perennial inspiration and a 
boundless reward. Was Hammerfeldt my school- 
master ? I was not blind to the share that vanity 
had in her mood nor to ambition’s part in it, but I 
saw also and exulted in her tenderness. All these 
impulses in her I was now ready to use, for I also 
had my vanity — a boy’s vanity in a tribute wrung 
from a woman. And, beyond this, passion was 
strong in me. 

She went on in real or affected petulance : 

“ Can they point to anything I have done ? Are 
any appointments made to please me ? Are my 
friends ever favoured ? They are all out in the cold, 
and likely to stay there, aren’t they, Csesar ? Oh, 
you’re very wise. You take what I give you; no- 
body need know of that. But you give nothing, 
because that would make talk and gossip. The 
Prince has taught you well. Yes, you’re very 
prudent.” She paused, and stood looking at me 
with a contemptuous smile on her lips; then she 
broke into a pitying little laugh. “ Poor boy ! ” 
said she. “ It’s a shame to scold you. You can’t 
help it.” 

It is easy enough now to say that all this was 
cunningly thought of and cunningly phrased. Yet 
it was not all cunning ; or rather it was the primi- 
tive, unmeditated cunning that nature gives to us, 
the instinctive weapon to which the woman flew in 
her need, a cunning of heart, not of brain. How- 
ever inspired, however shaped, it did its work. 

115 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


“ What do you ask ? ” said I. In my agitation I 
was brief and blunt. 

“Ask? Must I ask? Well, I ask that you 
should show somehow, how you will, that you trust 
us, that we are not outcasts, riff-raff, as Princess 
Heinrich calls us, lepers. Do it how you like, 
choose anybody you like from among us — I don’t 
ask for any special person. Show that some one of 
us has your confidence. Why shouldn’t you ? The 
King should be above prejudice, and we’re honest, 
some of us.” 

I tried to speak lightly, and smiled at her. 

“ You are all I love in the world, some of you,” 
I said. 

She sat down again in the little chair, and turned 
her face upward toward me. 

“ Then do it, Caesar,” she said very softly. 

It had been announced a few days before that 
our ambassador at Paris had asked to be relieved 
of his post ; there was already talk about his suc- 
cessor. Remembering this, I said, more in jest 
than seriousness : 

“ The Paris Embassy ? Would that satisfy you ?” 

Her face became suddenly radiant, merry, and 
triumphant ; she clapped her hands, and then held 
them clasped toward me. 

“ You suggested it yourself! ” she cried. 

“ In joke ! ” 

“ Joke ? I won’t be joked with. I choose that 
you should be serious. You said the Paris Em- 
bassy ! Are you afraid it’ll make Hammerfeldt too 
angry ? Fancy the Princess and your sister ! How 
I shall love to see them ! ” She dropped her voice 
as she added, “ Do it for me, Caesar.” 

“ Who should have it ? ” 9 

116 


OF A POLITICAL APPOINTMENT 

“ I don’t care. Anybody, so long as he’s one 
of us. Choose somebody good, and then you can 
defy them all.” 

She saw the seriousness that had now fallen on 
me; what I had idly suggested, and she caught up 
with so fervent a welcome, was no small thing. If 
I did it, it would be at the cost of Hammerfeldt’s 
confidence, perhaps of his services ; he might refuse 
to endure such an open rebuff. And I knew in my 
heart that the specious justifications were unsound; 
I should not act because of them, they were the 
merest pretext. I should give what she asked to 
her. Should I not be giving her my honour also, 
that public honour which I had learned to hold so 
high? 

“ I can’t promise to-day ; you must let me think,” 
I pleaded. 

I was prepared for another outburst of petulance, 
for accusations of timidity, of indifference, again of 
willingness to take and unwillingness to give. But 
she sat still, looking at me intently, and presently 
laid her hand in mine. 

“ Yes, think,” she said with a sigh. 

I bent down and kissed the hand that lay in mine. 
Then she raised it, and held her arm up before him. 

“Max’s bracelet!” she said, sighing again and 
smiling. Then she rose to her feet, and walking to 
the hearth, stood looking down into the fire. I did 
not join her, but sat in my chair. For a long while 
neither of us spoke. At last I rose slowly. She 
heard the movement and turned her head. 

“ I will come again to-morrow,” I said. 

She stood still for a moment, regarding me in- 
tently. Then she walked quickly across to me, hold- 
ing out her hands. As I took them she laughed 
117 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


nervously. I did not speak, but I looked into her 
eyes, and then, as I pressed her hands, I kissed 
her cheek. The nervous laugh came again, but 
she said nothing. I left her standing there and 
went out. 

I walked home alone through the lighted streets. 
It has always been, and is still, my custom to walk 
about freely and unattended. This evening the 
friendly greetings of those w r ho chanced to recog- 
nise me in the glare of the lamps were pleasant to 
me. I remember thinking that all these good folk 
would be grieved if they knew what was going on 
in the young King’s mind, how he was torn hither 
and thither, his only joy a crime, and the guarding 
of his honour become a sacrifice that seemed too 
great for his strength. There was one kind-faced 
fellow in particular, whom I noticed drinking a glass 
at a cafe . He took off his hat to me with a cheery 
“ God bless your Majesty ! ” I should have liked to 
sit down by him and tell him all about it. He had 
been young, and he looked shrewd and friendly. 
I had nobody whom I could tell about it. I don’t 
remember ever seeing this man again, but I think 
of him still as one who might have been a friend. 
By his dress he appeared to be a clerk or shop- 
keeper. 

I had an appointment for that evening with Ham- 
merfeldt, but found a note in which he excused him- 
self from coming. He had taken a chill, and was 
confined to his bed. The business could wait, he 
said, but went on to remark that no time should be 
lost in considering the question of the Paris Em- 
bassy. He added three or four names as possible 
selections; all those mentioned were well-known 
and decided adherents of his own. I was reading 
118 


OF A POLITICAL APPOINTMENT 


his letter when my mother and Victoria came in. 
They had heard of the Prince’s indisposition, but 
on making inquiries were informed that it was not 
serious. I sent at once to inquire after him, and 
handed his note to the Princess. 

“Any of those would do very well,” she said 
when she finished it. “ They have all been trained 
under the Prince and are thoroughly acquainted 
with his views.” 

“ And with mine ? ” I asked, smiling. 

A look of surprise appeared on my mother’s face ; 
she looked at me doubtfully. 

“ The Prince’s views are yours, I suppose?” she 
said. 

“ I’m not sure I like any of his selections,” I ob- 
served. 

I do not think that my mother would have said 
anything more at the time; her judgment having 
been convinced, she would not allow temper to lead 
her into hostilities. Here, as so often, the unwise 
course was left to my dear Victoria, who embraced 
it with her usual readiness. 

“Doesn’t Wetter like any of them?” she asked 
ironically. 

I remained silent. She came nearer and looked 
into my face, laughing maliciously. 

“ Or is it the Countess ? Haven’t they made 
enough love to the Countess, or too much, or 
what ? ” 

“My dear Victoria,” I said, “you must make 
allowances. The Countess is the prettiest woman 
in Forstadt.” 

My sister courtesied with an ironical smile. 

“I mean, of course,” I added, “since William 
Adolphus carried you off to Gronenstahl.” 

119 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


My mother interrupted this little quarrel. 

“ I’m sure you’ll be guided by the Prince’s judg- 
ment,” she observed. 

Victoria was not to be quenched. 

“ And not by the beauty of the prettiest woman 
in Forstadt.” And she added, “The creature’s as 
plebeian as she can be.” 

As a rule I was ready enough to spar with my 
sister ; to-night I had not the spirit. To-night, 
moreover, she, whom as a rule I could treat with 
good-humoured indifference, had power to wound. 
The least weighty of people speaking the truth can 
not be wholly disregarded. I prepared to go to 
my room, remarking : 

“ Of course, I shall discuss the matter with the 
Prince.” 

Again Victoria rushed to the fray. 

“You mean that it’s not our business ? ” she asked 
with a toss of her head. 

I was goaded beyond endurance, and it was not 
their business. Princess Heinrich might find some 
excuse in her familiarity with public affairs, Victoria 
at least could urge no such plea. 

“ I am always glad of my mother’s advice, Vic- 
toria,” said I, and with a bow I left them. As I 
went out I heard Victoria cry, “ It’s all that hateful 
woman ! ” 

Naturally the thing appeared to me then in a 
different light from that in which I can see it now. 
I can not now think that my mother and sister were 
wrong to be anxious, disturbed, alarmed, even angry 
with the lady who occasioned them such discomfort. 
A young man under the influence of an older woman 
is no doubt a legitimate occasion for the fears and 
efforts of his female relatives. I have recorded what 
120 


OF A POLITICAL APPOINTMENT 


they said not in protest against their feelings, but 
to show the singularly unfortunate manner in which 
they made what they felt manifest ; my object is not 
to blame what was probably inevitable in them, but 
to show how they overreached themselves and be- 
came not a drag on my infatuation, as they hoped, 
but rather a spur that incited my passion to a quicker 
course. 

That spur I did not need. She seemed to stand 
before me still as I had left her, with my kiss fresh 
on her cheeks, and on her lips that strange, nervous, 
helpless laugh, the laugh that admitted a folly she 
could not conquer, expressed a shame that burned 
her even while she braved it, and owned a love so 
compact of this folly and this shame that its joy 
seemed all one with their bitterness. But to my 
younger heart and hotter man’s blood the folly and 
shame were now beaten down by the joy; it freed 
itself from them and soared up into my heart on a 
liberated and triumphant wing. I had achieved 
this thing — I, the boy they laughed at and tried to 
rule. She herself had laughed at me. She laughed 
thus no more. When I kissed her she had not 
called me Caesar; she had found no utterance save 
in that laugh, and the message of that laugh was 
surrender. 


121 


CHAPTER XI 


AN ACT OF ABDICATION 

The night brought me little rest and no wisdom. 
As though its own strength were not enough, my 
passion sought and found an ally in a defiant ob- 
stinacy, which now made me desirous of doing what 
the Countess asked for its own sake as well as for 
hers. Being diffident, I sought a mask in violence. 
I wanted to assert myself, to show the women that 
I was not to be driven, and Hammerfeldt that I was 
not to be led. Neither their brusque insistence nor 
his suave and dexterous suggestions should control 
me or prevent me from exercising my own will. A 
distorted view of my position caused me to find its 
essence in the power of doing as I liked, and its dig- 
nity in disregarding wholesome advice because I 
objected to the manner in which it was tendered. 
This mood, ready and natural enough in youth, was 
an instrument of which my passion made effective 
use ; I pictured the consternation of my advisers with 
hardly less pleasure than the delight of her whom 
I sought to serve. My sense of responsibility was 
dulled and deadened ; I had rather do wrong than 
do nothing, cause harm than be the cause of noth- 
ing, that men should blame me rather than not can- 
vass my actions or fail to attribute to me any initi- 
ative. I felt somehow that the blame would lie with 
my counsellors ; they had undertaken to guide and 
control me. If they failed they, more than I, must 
answer for the failure. Sophistry of this kind passes 
122 


AN ACT OF ABDICATION 


well enough with one who wants excuses, and may 
even array itself in a cloak of plausibility ; it was 
strong in my mind by virtue of the strong resent- 
ment from which it sprang, and the strong ally to 
which its forces were joined. Passion and self-asser- 
tion were at one; my conquest would be two-fold. 
While the Countess was brought to acknowledge 
my sway, those who had hitherto ruled my life would 
be reduced to a renunciation of their authority. The 
day seemed to me to promise at once emancipation 
and conquest ; to mark the point at which I was to 
gain both liberty and empire, when I should become 
indeed a king, both in my own palace and in her 
heart a king. 

In the morning I was occupied in routine busi- 
ness with one of the Ministers. This gentleman 
gave me a tolerably good account of Hammerfeldt, 
although it appeared that the Prince was suffering 
from a difficulty in breathing. There seemed, how- 
ever, no cause for alarm, and when I had sent to 
make inquiries I did not deem it necessary to remain 
at home and await the return of my messenger. I 
paid my usual formal visit to my mother’s apart- 
ments. The Princess did not refer to our previous 
conversation, but her manner toward me was even 
unusually stiff and distant. I think that she had 
expected repentance. When I in my turn ignored 
the matter she became curt and disagreeable. I left 
her, more than ever determined on my course. I 
was glad to escape an interview with Victoria, and 
was now free to keep my appointment with W etter. 
I had proposed to lunch with him, saying that I 
had one or two matters to discuss. Even in my 
obstinacy and excitement I remained shrewd enough 
to see the advantage of being furnished with well- 
123 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


sounding reasons for the step that I was about to 
take. Wetter’s forensic sharpness, ready wit, and 
persuasive eloquence would dress my case in better 
colours than I could contrive for myself. It mat- 
tered little to me how well he knew that arguments 
were needed, not to convince myself, but to flourish 
in the faces of those who opposed and criticised 
me. It was also my intention to obtain from him 
the names of two or three of his friends who, apart 
from their views, were decently qualified to fulfil 
the duties of the post in the event of their nomi- 
nation. 

It was no shock, but rather a piquant titillation 
of my bitter humour, when I disentangled from 
Wetter’s confident and eloquent description of the 
Ideal Ambassador a tolerably accurate, if somewhat 
partial, portrait of himself. I was rather surprised 
at his desire for the position. Subsequently I learned 
that pecuniary embarrassments made him willing to 
abandon, for a time at least, the greater but more 
uncertain chances of active political warfare. How- 
ever, given that he desired the Embassy, it caused 
me no surprise that he should ask for it. To ap- 
point him would be open war indeed ; he was the 
Princes bete noire , my mother’s pet aversion ; that 
he was totally untrained in diplomacy was a minor, 
but possibly serious, objection; that he was extreme 
in his views seemed to me then no disqualification. 
I allowed him to perceive that I read his parable, 
but, remembering the case of the Greek generals 
and Themistocles, ventured to ask him to give me 
another name. 

“ The only name that I could give your Majesty 
with perfect confidence would be that of my good 
friend Max von Sempach,” said he, with an ad- 
124 


AN ACT OF ABDICATION 


mirable air of honesty, but, as I thought, a covert 
gleam of amusement in his deep-set eyes. I very 
nearly laughed. The only man fit for the Em- 
bassy, except himself, was Count Max ! And if 
Count Max went, of course the Countess would 
go with him; equally of course the King must 
stay in Forstadt. I saw Wetter looking at me 
keenly out of the corner of his eye ; it did not 
suit me that he should read my thoughts this 
time. I appeared to have no suspicion of the good 
faith of his suggestion, and said, with an air of sur- 
prise : 

“ Max von Sempach ! Why, how is he suit- 
able ? ” 

With great gravity he gave me many reasons, 
proving not that Max was very suitable, but that 
everybody else was profoundly unsuitable, except 
the unmentioned candidate whose name was so 
well understood between us. 

“ These,” I observed, “ would seem to be reasons 
for looking elsewhere — I mean to the other side — 
for a suitable man.” 

He did not trouble to argue that with me. He 
knew that his was not the voice to which I should 
listen. 

“ If your Majesty comes to that conclusion, my 
friends and I will be disappointed,” he said, “ but 
we must accept your decision.” 

There was much to like in Wetter. Men are 
not insincere merely because they are ambitious, 
dishonest merely because they are given to in- 
trigue, selfish merely because they ask places for 
themselves. There is a grossness of moral fibre 
not in itself a good thing, but very different from 
rottenness. W etter was a keen and convinced 
9 125 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


partisan, and an ardent believer in himself. His 
cause ought to win, and, if his hand could take the 
helm, would win ; this was his attitude, and it ex- 
cused some want of scruple both in promoting the 
cause and in insuring to it his own effective sup- 
port. But he was a big man, of a well-developed 
nature, hearty, sympathetic, and free from cant, 
full of force, of wit, of unblunted emotion. He 
would not, however, have made at all a good am- 
bassador ; and he would not have wanted to be 
one had he not run into debt. 

Max von Sempach, on the other hand, would 
fill the place respectably, although not brilliantly. 
Wetter knew this, and the fact gave to the men- 
tion of the Count’s name a decent appearance with- 
out depriving it of its harmlessness. He named a 
suitable but an impossible person — a person to me 
impossible. 

Soon after the meal I left him, telling him that 
I should come in again later, and had ordered my 
carriage to call for me at his house at five o’clock. 
Turning down the quiet lane that led to the 
Countess’s, I soon reached my destination. I was 
now in less agitation than on the day before. My 
mind was made up ; I came to give what she asked. 
W etter should have his Embassy. More than this, 
I came no longer in trepidation, no longer fearing 
her ridicule even while I sought her love, no more 
oppressed with the sense that in truth she might 
be laughing while she seemed to encourage. There 
was the dawning of triumph in my heart, an assur- 
ance of victory, and the fierce delight in a deter- 
mination come to at great cost and to be held, it 
may be, at greater still. In all these feelings, 
mighty always, there were for me the freshness, 
126 


AN ACT OF ABDICATION 


the rush of youth, and the venturous joy of new 
experience. 

On her also a crisis of feeling had come ; she 
was not her old self, nor I to her what I had been. 
There was a strained, almost frightened look in 
her eyes ; a low- voiced “ Augustin ” replacing her 
bantering “ Caesar.” Save for my name she did 
not speak as I led her to a couch and sat down by 
her side. She looked slight, girlish, and pathetic 
in a simple gown of black; timidity renewed her 
youth. Well might I forget that she was not a 
maiden of meet age for me, and she herself for an 
instant cheat time’s reckoning. She made of me a 
man, of herself a girl, and prayed love’s advocacy 
to prove the delusion true. 

“ I have been with Wetter,” said I. “ He wants 
the Embassy.” 

I fancy that she knew his desire ; her hand 
pressed mine, but she did not speak. 

“ But he recommended Max,” I went on. 

“Max!” For a moment her face was full of 
terror as she turned to me ; then she broke into a 
smile. Wetter’s advice was plain to her also. 

“You see how much he wants it for himself,” 
said I. “ He knows I would sooner send a gutter- 
boy than Max. And you know it ? ” 

“ Do I ? ” she murmured. 

I rose and stood before her. 

“It is yours to give, not mine,” said I. “Do 
you give it to Wetter? ” 

As she looked up at me her eyes filled with 
tears, while her lips curved in a timid smile. 

“ What — what trouble you’ll get into ! ” she said. 

“ It’s not a thousandth part of what I would do 
for you. Wetter shall have it then — or Max ? ” 

127 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“Not Max,” she said; her eyes told me why it 
should not be Max. 

“Then Wetter,” and I fell on one knee by her, 
whispering, “ The King gives it to his Queen. ” 

“ They’ll blame you so ; they’ll say all sorts of 
things.” 

“ I shan’t hear them; I hear only you.” 

“ They’ll be unkind to you.” 

“ They can’t hurt me if you’re kind to me.” 

“Perhaps they’ll say I — I got it from you.” 

“ I am not ashamed. What is it to me what 
they say? ” 

“You don’t care ? ” 

“ For nothing in the world but you and to be 
with you.” 

She sat looking up at me for an instant ; then 
she threw her arm over the end of the sofa and 
laid her face on the cushion ; I heard her sob 
softly. Her other hand lay in her lap ; I took it 
and raised it to my lips. I did not know the 
meaning of her tears. I was triumphant. She 
sobbed, not loudly or violently, but with a pitiful 
gentleness. 

“ Why do you cry so, darling? ” I whispered. 

She turned her face to me ; the tears were run- 
ning down her cheeks. “ Why do I cry ? ” she 
moaned softly. “ Because I’m wicked — I suppose 
I’m wicked — and so foolish. And — and you are 
good, and noble, and — and you’ll be great. And ” 
— the sobs choked her voice, and she turned her 
face half away — “ and I’m old, Augustin.” 

I could not enter into her mood ; joy pervaded 
me ; but neither did I scorn her nor grow im- 
patient. I perceived dimly that she struggled 
with a conflict of emotions beyond my under- 
128 


AN ACT OF ABDICATION 


standing. Words were unsafe, likely to be wrong, 
to make worse what they sought to cure. I 
caressed her, but trusted my tongue no further 
than to murmur endearments. She grew calmer, 
sat up, and dried her eyes. 

“ But it’s so absurd,” she protested. “ Augus- 
tin, lots of boys are just as absurd as you; but was 
any woman ever as absurd as I am ? ” 

“ Why do you call it absurd ? ” 

“ Oh, because, because ” — she moved near me 
suddenly — “because, although I’ve tried so hard, I 
can’t feel it the least absurd. I do love you.” 

Here was her prepossession all the while — that 
the thing would seem absurd, not that there was 
sin in it. I can see now why her mind fixed on 
this point ; she was, in truth, speaking not to me 
who was there by her, me as I was, but to the 
man who should be; she pleaded not only with 
herself, but with my future self, praying the ma- 
ture man to think of her with tenderness and not 
with a laugh, interceding with what should one 
day be my memory of her. Ah, my dear, that 
prayer of yours is answered ! I do not laugh as I 
write. At you I could never have laughed ; and 
if I set out to force a laugh even at myself I fall to 
thinking of what you were, and again I do not 
laugh. Then what is it that the world outside 
must have laughed with a very self-conscious wis- 
dom ? Its laughter was nothing to us then, and 
to-day is to me as nothing. Is it not always ready 
to weep at a farce and laugh at a tragedy ? 

“ But you’ve nobody else,” she went on softly. 
“ I shouldn’t have dared if you’d had anybody else. 
Long ago — do you remember ? — you had nobody, 
and you liked me to kiss you. I believe I began 
129 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


to love you then ; I mean I began to think how 
much some woman would love you some day. 
But I didn’t think I should be the woman. Oh, 

don’t look at me so hard, or — or you’ll see ” 

“How much you love me? ” 

“ No, no. You’ll see my wrinkles. See, if I do 
this you can’t look at my face.” And putting her 
arms round my neck she hid her face. 

I was strangely tongue-tied, or, perhaps, not 
strangely ; for there comes a time when the eyes 
say all that there is desire or need to say. Her 
pleadings were in answer to my eyes. 

“ Oh, I know you think so now ! ” she mur- 
mured. “ But you won’t go on thinking so — and 
I shall.” She raised her head and looked at me; 
now a smile of triumph came on her face. “ Oh, 
but you do think so now ! ” she whispered in a 
voice still lower, but full of delight. “ You do 
think so now,” and again she hid her face from me. 
But I knew that the triumph had entered into her 
soul also, and that the shadows could no longer al- 
together dim its sunshine for her. 

The afternoon became full, and waned to dusk 
as we sat together. We said little; there were no 
arrangements made ; we seemed in a way cut off 
from the world outside, and from the consideration 
of it. The life which we must each lead, lives in 
the main apart from one another, had receded into 
distance, and went unnoticed ; we had nothing to 
do save to be together; when we were together 
there was little that we cared to say, no protes- 
tations that we had need to make. There was be- 
tween us so absolute a sympathy, so full an agree- 
ment in all that we gave, all that we accepted, all 
that we abandoned. Doubts and struggles were 

130 


AN ACT OF ABDICATION 


as though they had never been. There is a temp- 
tation to think sometimes that things so perfectly 
justify themselves that conscience is not discrowned 
by violence, but signs a willing abdication, herself 
convinced. For passion can simulate right, even 
as in some natures the love of right becomes a tur- 
bulent passion in the end, like most of such, de- 
structive of itself. 

“ Then I am yours, and you are mine ? And 
the Embassy is Wetter’s ? ” 

“ The Embassy is whose you like,” she cried, 
“ if the rest is true.” 

“It is Wetter’s. Do you know why? That 
everybody may know how I am yours.” 

She did not refuse even the perilous fame I of- 
fered. 

“ I should be proud of it,” she said, with head 
erect. 

“No, no; nobody shall breathe a letter of your 
name,” I exclaimed in a sudden turn of feeling. “ I 
will swear that you had nothing to do with it, that 
you hate him, that you never mentioned it.” 

“ Say what you like,” she whispered. 

“ If I did that, I should say to all Forstadt that 
there’s no woman in the world like you.” 

“ You needn’t say it to all Forstadt. You 
haven’t even said it to me yet.” 

We had been sitting together. Again I fell on 
one knee, prepared to offer her formal homage in a 
sweet extravagance. On a sudden she raised her 
hand ; her face grew alarmed. 

“ Hark! ” she said. “ Hark !” 

“ To your voice, yours only ! ” 

“No. There is a noise. Somebody is coming. 
Who can it be ? ” 


131 


THE KING S MIRROR 


“ I don’t care who it is. ” 

“ Why, dearest ! But you must care. Get up, 
get up, get up ! ” 

I rose slowly to my feet. I was indeed in a 
mood when I did not care. The steps were close 
outside. Before they could come nearer, I kissed 
her again. 

“ Who can it be ? I am denied to everybody,” 
she said, bewildered. 

There was a knock at the door. 

“ It is not Max,” she said, with a swift glance at 
me. I stood where I was. “ Come in,” she cried. 

The door opened, and to my amazement Wetter 
stood there. He was panting, as though he had 
run fast, and his air displayed agitation. The 
Countess ran to him instantly. His coming seemed 
to revive the fears which her love had laid to rest. 

“ What is it ? ” she cried. “ What’s the matter ? ” 

Wetter took absolutely no notice of her. Walk- 
ing on as though she were not there, he came 
straight up to me. He spoke in tones of intense 
emotion, and with the bluntness that excitement 
brings. 

“You must come with me at once,” he said in 
an imperious way. “ They’ve sent for you to my 
house; we can get in together by the back door.” 

“ But what’s the matter, man ? ” I cried, divided 
between puzzle and anger. 

“You’re wanted; you must go to Hammer- 
feldt’s.” 

“ To Hammerfeldt’s ? ” 

“ Yes. He’s dying. Come along.” 

“ Dying ! My God ! ” 

“The message is urgent. There’s no time to 
lose. If you want to see him alive, come. I said 
132 


AN ACT OF ABDICATION 


you were lying down in my study. If you don’t 
come quickly, it will be known where you are.” 

“ I don’t care for that.” 

“ He’s sent for you himself.” 

The Countess had moved to my side. 

“You must go,” she said now, laying her hand 
on my arm. 

I turned to look at her. Her eyes were full of 
a vague alarm. I was like a man suddenly roused 
half-way through a vivid, entrancing dream, unable 
still to believe that the real is true and the phantasm 
not the only substance. 

“ Come, come,” repeated W etter urgently and 
irritably. “ You can’t let him die without going to 
him.” 

“ Go, Augustin,” she whispered. 

“Yes, I’ll go. I’m going; I’m going at once,” 
I stammered. “ I’m ready, W etter. Take me with 
you. Is he really dying ? ” 

“ So they say.” 

“ Hammerfeldt dying! Yes, I’ll come with you.” 

I turned to the Countess; Wetter was already 
half-way to the door. He looked back over his 
shoulder, and his face was impatient. My eyes met 
hers, I read the fear that was in hers. I was strangely 
fearful myself, appalled at such a breaking of our 
dream. 

“Good-bye,” I said. “I’ll come again soon; 
to-morrow, some time to-morrow.” 

“Yes, yes,” said she, but hardly as though she 
believed me. 

4 ‘Good-bye.” I took her hand and kissed it; 
Wetter looked on, saying nothing. The thought 
of concealment did not occur to me. I kissed her 
hand two or three times. 

133 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ Shall you find him alive ? ” she murmured, in 
speculation more than in question. 

“I don’t know. Good-bye.” 

She herself led me to where W etter was standing. 

“ It’s his breathing,” said Wetter. “ He can’t get 
his breath ; can’t speak at all. Come along.” 

“ I’m ready ; I’ll follow you.” 

As I reached the door I turned. She was not 
looking at me ; she had sat down in a chair by the 
fire and was gazing fixedly at the flames. I have 
had that picture of her often in my mind. 

Wetter led me downstairs and out into the street 
at a rapid pace. I followed him, trying to gather 
myself together and think coherently. Too sudden 
a change paralyses ; the mind must have time for 
readjustment. Hammerfeldt was and had always 
been so large a figure and a presence so important 
in my life ; I could only whisper to myself, ‘ ‘ He’s 
dying ; it’s his breathing ; he can’t get his breath.” 

We went in by the back door as we had arranged, 
and gained the study. 

“ Quick ! ” whispered Wetter. “ Remember you 
were in here. Don’t make any excuses about delay. 
Or put it on me ; say I hesitated to rouse you.” 

I listened little to all that he said, and paid small 
heed to the precautions that his wariness suggested. 

“ I hope he won’t be dead when you get there,” 
he added as we started for the hall. “ Here’s your 
hat. ” 

I caught at the word “ dead.” 

“ If he’s dead — ” I repeated aimlessly. “ If he’s 
dead, Wetter ” 

Then for an instant he turned to me, his face full 
of expression, his eyes keen and eager. He shrugged 
his shoulders. 


134 


AN ACT OF ABDICATION 


46 He’s an old man,” said he. “We must all die. 

And if he’s dead ” 

“ W ell, W etter, well ? ” 

“ Well, then you’re king at last.” 

With this he opened the door of my carriage and 
stood holding it. I looked him full in the face be- 
fore I stepped in. He did not flinch; he nodded 
his head and smiled. 

“ You’re king at last,” he seemed to say again. 


135 


CHAPTER XII 


KING AT A PRICE 

The death of Prince von Hammerfeldt furnished 
the subject of a picture exhibited at Forstadt with 
great success a few years ago. The old man’s sim- 
ple room, its plain furniture, the large window facing 
the garden, were faithfully given ; the bed was his 
bed and no other bed ; the nurses were portraits, the 
doctors were portraits, the Prince’s features were 
exactly mapped ; I myself was represented sitting in 
an armchair by his side, with a strong light on my 
face as I leaned forward to catch his faint words. 
The artist’s performance was, in fact, a singularly 
competent reproduction of every external object, 
human or other, in the room ; and with the necessary 
alteration of features and title the picture would 
have served to commemorate the death- bed of any 
aged statesman who had a young prince for his 
pupil. Hammerfeldt is evidently giving a brief sum- 
mary of his principles, providing me with a vade 
mecum of kingship, a manual on the management of 
men. I listen with an expression of deep attention 
and respectful grief. By a touch which no doubt 
is dramatic, the other figures are gazing intently at 
me, on whom the future depends, not at the dying 
man whose course is run. Looking at the work as 
a whole, I am not in the least surprised that I was 
recommended to bestow the Cross of St. Paul on 
the painter. I consented without demur. In 
136 


KING AT A PRICE 


mere matters of taste I have always considered 
myself bound to reflect public opinion. 

Now for reality. An old man struggling hard 
for breath; gasps now quicker, now slower; a few 
words half-formed, choked, unintelligible ; eyes that 
were full of an impotent desire to speak ; these came 
first. Then the doctors gathered round, looked, 
whispered, went away. I rose and walked twice 
across the room ; coming back, I stood and looked 
at him. Still he knew me. Suddenly his hand 
moved toward me. I bent my head till my ear was 
within three inches of his lips ; I could hear nothing. 
I saw a doctor standing by, watch in hand ; he was 
timing the breath that grew slower and slower. 
“ Will he speak ? ” I asked in a whisper; a shake of 
the head answered me. I looked again into his 
eyes ; now he seemed to speak to me. My face 
grew hot and red ; but I did not speak to him. 
Yet I stroked his hand, and there was a gleam of 
understanding in his eyes. A moment later his 
eyes closed ; the gasps became slower and slower. 
I raised my head and looked across at the doctor. 
His watch had a gold front protecting the glass ; he 
shut the front on the face with a click. 

Very likely there were no proper materials for a 
picture here ; the sentiment, the historical interest, 
the situation would all have been defective. Men 
die in so very much the same way, and in so very 
much the same way men watch them dying. 
Death is the triumph of the physical. I must 
not complain that the painter imported some sen- 
timent. 

In twenty minutes I was back again in my car- 
riage, being driven home rapidly. My dinner was 
ready and Baptiste in attendance. ‘‘Ah, he is 
137 


THE KING S MIRROR 


dead?” said Baptiste, as he fashioned my napkin 
into a more perfect shape. 

“Yes, Baptiste, he is dead,” said I. “ Bring me 
some slippers.” 

“ Your Majesty will not dress ? ” 

“ A smoking jacket,” said I. 

While I ate my dinner Baptiste chattered about 
the Prince. There was a kindly humanity in the 
man that gave a whimsical tenderness to what he 
said. 

“ Ah, now, M. le Prince knew the world well. 
And where is he gone? Well, at least he will not 
be disappointed ! To die at eighty ! It is only to 
go to bed when one is tired. What use would there 
be in sitting up with heavy eyes ? That is to bore 
yourself and the company.” 

“ Has the Princess expressed a wish to see me? ” 
I asked. 

“ Certainly, sire, at your leisure. I said, ‘ But 
his Majesty must dine.’ The Princess is much upset 
it seems. She was greatly attached to the Prince.” 
He looked at me shrewdly. “ She valued the Prince 
very highly,” he added, as though in correction of 
his previous statement. 

“ I’ll go directly I’ve done dinner. Send and say 
so.” 

I was not surprised that consternation reigned in 
the heart of my mother and extended its sway to 
Victoria. Victoria was crying, Princess Heinrich’s 
eyes were dry, but her lips set in a despairing close- 
ness. Both invited me to kiss them. 

“ What will you do without him ? ” asked Vic- 
toria, dabbing her eyes. 

“ You have lost your best, your only guide,” said 
my mother. 


138 


KING AT A PRICE 


I told them what I had to tell about Hammer- 
feldt’s death. Victoria broke into compassionate 
comments, my mother listened in silence. 

44 Poor old Hammerfeldt ! ” I ended reflectively. 

“ Where were you when you got the news ? ” 
asked Victoria. 

I looked at her. Then I answered quietly: 

“ I was calling on the Countess von Sempach. I 
lunched with Wetter and went on there.” 

There was a pause. I believe that my candour 
was a surprise ; perhaps it seemed a defiance. 

“Did you tell the Prince that?” my mother asked. 

“The Prince,” I answered, 4 4 was not in a state 
to listen to anything that I might have said, not 
even to anything of importance.” 

44 Fancy if he’d known ! On his death-bed ! ” was 
Victoria’s very audible whisper. 

My mother looked at me with a despairing ex- 
pression. I am unwilling to do either her or my 
sister an injustice, but I wondered then how much 
thought they were giving to the old friend we had 
lost. It seemed to me that they thought little of 
the man we knew, the man himself ; not grief, but 
fear was dominant in them. Wetter’s saying, 
44 You’re king at last,” came into my mind. Per- 
haps their mood was intelligible enough and did not 
want excuse. They had seen in Hammerfeldt my 
schoolmaster; his hand was gone, and could no 
longer guide or restrain me. To one a son, to the 
other a younger brother, by both I was counted in- 
capable of standing alone or choosing my own path. 
Hammerfeldt was gone; Wetter remained; the 
Countess von Sempach remained. There was the 
new position. The Prince’s death then might well 
be to them so great a calamity as to lose its rank 
139 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


among sorrows, regrets for the past to be ousted 
by terror for the future, and the loss of an ally 
obliterate grief for a friend. 

“But you know his wishes and his views,” said 
my mother. “ I hope that they will have an in- 
creased sacredness for you now. ” 

“ He may be looking down on you from heaven,” 
added Victoria, folding her handkerchief so as to 
get a dry part uppermost. 

I could not resist this provocation : I smiled. 

“ If it is so, Victoria,” I remarked, “ nobody will 
be more surprised than the Prince himself.” 

Victoria was very much offended. She conceived 
herself to have added an effective touch : I ridiculed 
her. 

44 You might at least pretend to have a little de- 
cent feeling,” she cried. 

4 4 Come, come, my dear, don’t let’s squabble over 
him before he’s cold,” said I, rising. 4 4 Have you 
anything else to say to me, mother ? ” 

At this instant my brother-in-law entered. He 
smelt very strongly of tobacco, but wore an expres- 
sion of premeditated misery. He came up to me, 
holding out his hand. 

44 Good evening,” said I. 

“Poor Hammerfeldt ! ” he murmured. “Poor 
Hammerfeldt ! What a blow ! How lost you must 
feel!” 

He had been talking over the matter with Vic- 
toria. That was beyond doubt. 

44 1 happen to have been thinking,” I rejoined, 
44 more of him than of myself.” 

44 Of course, of course,” muttered William Adol- 
phus in some confusion, and (as I thought) with a 
reproachful glance at his wife. 

140 


KING AT A PRICE 


“We have lost the Prince,” said my mother, 
“ but we can still be guided by his example and 
his principles. To follow his counsels will be the 
best monument you can raise to his memory, Au- 
gustin.” 

I kissed her hand and then she gave me her 
cheek. Going to Victoria, I saluted her with 
brotherly heartiness. I never allowed myself to 
forget that Victoria was very fond of me, and I 
never lost my affection for her. 

“ Now don’t be foolish, Augustin,” she implored. 

“ What is being foolish ? ” I asked perversely. 

“ Oh, you know ! You know very well what 
people say, and so do I.” 

“ And poor old Hammerfeldt in heaven — does 
he know too ? ” 

She turned away with a shocked expression. 
William Adolphus hid a sheepish smile with a 
large hand. In the lower ranges of humour Will- 
iam Adolphus sometimes understood one. I de- 
clined his offer of company over a cigar, but bade 
him good-night with a mild gratitude ; he desired 
to be pleasant to us all, and the realisation of his 
ambition presented difficulties. 

I was very tired and fell into a deep sleep almost 
the moment I was in bed. At four o’clock in the 
morning I awoke. My fatigue seemed gone ; I 
did not think of sleeping again. The events of 
the day before came back to me with an extraor- 
dinary vividness of impression, the outcome of 
nerves strained to an unhealthy sensitiveness. It 
would have needed but a little self-delusion, a lit- 
tle yielding to the current of my thoughts, to make 
me see Hammerfeldt by my bed. The Countess 
and Wetter were in mental image no less plain. I 
10 141 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


rose and pulled up the blinds ; the night had be- 
gun to pass from black to gray; for a moment I 
pictured the Prince, not looking down from heaven, 
but wandering somewhere in such a dim, cold twi- 
light. The message that his eyes had given me 
became very clear to me. It had turned my cheek 
red; it sent an excitement through me now. It 
would not go easily into words, but, as I sought to 
frame it, that other speech came back to me — the 
speech of the Prince’s enemy. Wetter had said, 
“ You’re king at last.” What else had Hammer- 
feldt meant to say ? Nothing else. That was his 
message also. From both it came, the same re- 
minder, the same exhortation. The living man 
and the dead joined their voices in this brief ap- 
peal. It did not need my mother’s despair or Vic- 
toria’s petulance to lend it point. I was amazed to 
find how it came home to me. Now I perceived 
how, up to this time, my life had been centred in 
Hammerfeldt. I was obeying him or disobeying, 
accepting his views or questioning them, docile or 
rebellious ; when I rebelled, I rebelled for the 
pleasure of it, for the excitement it gave, the spice 
of daring, the air of independence, for curiosity, to 
see how he would take it, what saying he would 
utter, what resource of persuasion or argument he 
would invoke. It was strange to think that now if 
I obeyed I should not gratify, if I disobeyed I could 
make him uneasy no more. If I went right, there 
was none to reap credit ; if I went wrong, none 
who should have controlled me better; none to 
say, “You are wise, sire”; none to smile as he 
said, “We must all learn wisdom, sire.” It was 
very strange to be without old Hammerfeldt. 

“ You’re king at last.” By Wetter’s verdict and 
143 


KING AT A PRICE 


by the Prince’s own, his death made me in very 
truth king. So they said ; what did they think ? 
Wetter’s thought was, “ Here is a king, a king to 
be shaped and used.” I read Wetter’s thought 
well enough. But the old man’s? His was a 
plea, a hope, a prayer. “ Be king.” A sudden 
flash of feeling came upon me — too late ! For I 
had gone to his bedside fresh from signing my ab- 
dication. It mattered nothing at whose bidding 
or with what eager obedience I had taken off the 
crown. My sovereignty was my possession and 
my trust. I had laid it down. In those dim 
hours of the night, when men die (so they say), 
passion is cold, the blood chill, and we fall prey to 
the cruelties of truth, then I knew to w r hat I had 
put my hand, why Wetter exulted, why Hammer- 
feldt’s eyes spoke one unspoken prayer. It was 
not that Wetter went Ambassador, but that he 
went not of my will, by my act, or out of my 
mind ; he went by another’s will, that other on 
whose head I had put my crown. 

Strange thoughts for a man not yet grown ? I 
am not altogether of that mind. For then my 
trust seemed very great, almost holy, armed with 
majesty; I had not learned the little real power 
that lay in it. To-day, if I threw away my crown, 
I should not exaggerate the value of my sacrifice. 
Then it seemed that I gave a great thing, and great 
was my betrayal. Therefore I could not rest for 
the thought of what I had put my hand to, chafed 
at Wetter’s words that sounded now like a taunt, 
and seemed again to see old Hammerfeldt dying 
and to flush red in shame before the utterance of 
his eyes. The Prince had served his masters, his 
country, and the cause that he held right. Wet- 
143 


THE KING S MIRROR 


ter, if he served himself, served his principles also. 
What and whom did I serve in this thing that I 
was about to do ? I could answer only that I served 
her whose image rose now before me. But when I 
turned to her for comfort she accused, and did not 
delight. 

I am aware that my feelings will probably ap- 
pear exaggerated to those not brought up in the 
habit of thought nor subjected to the influences 
which had ruled my mind. I give them for what 
they are worth. At this moment the effect of the 
contrast between my position and my desires was 
a struggle of peculiar severity — one of the battles 
of my life. 

Irony was not to be wanting, comedy claimed 
her accustomed share. The interview which I 
have already set down might seem enough to have 
satisfied my sister. It was not; after I had break- 
fasted Victoria sent William Adolphus to me. I 
am inclined now and then to think that there is, 
after all, something mystic in the status of hus- 
bandhood, some supernatural endowment that in 
the wife’s eyes attaches to her own man, however 
little she values him, at however low a rate she sets 
his natural qualities. How otherwise could Victo- 
ria (whose defect was more in temper than in per- 
ception) send William Adolphus to talk to me ? 

He came ; the role of the man of the world was 
his choice. “ I’m a bit older than you, you know,” 
he began ; then he laughed, and said that women 
were all very well in their places. I must not sup- 
pose that he was a Puritan. Heavens, I supposed 
nothing about him! I knew he was a fool, and 
rested in that sufficient knowledge. The Count- 
ess, he said, was a damned pretty woman. “We 
144 


KING AT A PRICE 


sha’n’t quarrel about that, anyhow,” he added, with 
the sort of laugh that I had so often seen poor 
old Hammerfeldt wince at. But come now, did 
I mean to — ? Well, I knew what he meant, 
didn’t I? ” 

44 My dear William Adolphus,” said I, 44 1 am so 
infinitely obliged to you. You have made me see 
the matter in quite a new light. It’s surprising 
what a talk with a man of the world does for one. 
I am very young, of course.” 

44 Oh, you’ll learn. You’re no fool,” said Will- 
iam Adolphus. 

44 1 suppose Victoria doesn’t know you’ve 
come ? ” 

He turned rather red, and, like a fool, lied where 
he need not, out of pride, not policy. 

44 No; I came off my own bat,” he answered. 

44 You have done me a great service.” 

44 My dear fellow ! ” beamed he, with the broad- 
est of smiles. “Now Hammerfeldt’s gone, I 
thought a friendly word or two would not come 
amiss.” 

Hammerfeldt was dead ; now came William 
Adolphus. II riy a pas dliomme necessaire. 

44 Of course you can do nothing abrupt,” he 
continued. 44 But I should think you might gradu- 
aiiy ” 

44 1 understand you absolutely,” said I, rising to 
my feet. 

44 What I mean is ” 

44 My dear fellow, not another word is needed.” 

44 You don’t mind if I mention to Victoria that 
I have ? ” 

44 Put it in the evening papers, if you like,” 
said I. 


145 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ Ha, ha ! ” he laughed. “ That wouldn’t be a 
bad joke, would it ? ” 

What a man! With his little bit of stock wis- 
dom, “You can do nothing abruptly” ! Nothing 
abruptly ! I must not cheek myself abruptly on the 
edge of the precipice, but go quietly down half-way 
to the gulf, and then come up again ! If I were ever 
to do anything, it must be done abruptly — now, to- 
day ; while the strength was on me, while there was 
still a force, fresh and vigorous, to match the other 
great force that drew me on. And across this con- 
sciousness came a queer little remorse for not having 
rescued Victoria from this husband whom she sent 
to teach me. When Baptiste brought me lunch I 
was laughing. 

That afternoon the thought of Geoffrey Owen 
was much with me. Perhaps I summoned it first in 
a sort of appeal against Hammerfeldt. But I knew 
in my heart that the two could not be antagonists 
here. Geoffrey would wish me to show favour, or 
at least impartiality, toward liberal opinions ; for the 
sake of such a manifestation he might overlook cer- 
tain objections and acquiesce in my giving the Em- 
bassy to W etter. But with what face would he hear 
an honest statement of the case — that Wetter was 
to have the Embassy because the King desired to 
please Countess von Sempach ? 1 smiled drearily 

as I imagined his incredulous indignation. No ; 
everybody was against me, saints and sages, Geof- 
frey and Hammerfeldt, women and men ; even the 
fools gave no countenance to my folly. William 
Adolphus thought that I might gradually ! 

At five o’clock I sent for Wetter. He came with 
remarkable promptness. He was visibly excited, 
and could hardly force himself to spend a moment 
146 


KING AT A PRICE 


on the formal and proper expressions of regret for 
the Prince’s death. He seemed to be watching me 
closely and eagerly. I made him sit down, and 
gave him a cigar. I had meant to approach the 
matter with a diplomatic deviousness. I had over- 
rated my skill and self-control. Wetter made me 
feel young and awkward. I was like a schoolboy 
forced to confess the neglect of his task, and 
speaking in fear of the cane. Ignoring the reserve 
that had marked our former conversation, I blurted 
out : 

“ I can’t send you to Paris.” 

The man’s face went white, but he controlled 
himself. 

“ Your Majesty knows that I did not ask for it,” 
he said with considerable dignity. 

“ I know; but you wanted it.” 

He looked straight at me ; he was very pale. 

“ Truly, yes,” he said. “ I wanted it ; since your 
Majesty is plain, I’ll be plain too.” 

‘ ‘ Why did you want it ? Why are you pale, 
Wetter ? ” 

He put his cigar in his mouth and smoked 
fiercely, but did not answer. 

“ You must have wanted it,” I said, “ or you 
wouldn’t have tried to get it in that way.” 

“ My God, I did want it.” 

“Why?” 

“ If I can’t have it, what matter ? ” He rose to 
his feet and bowed. " Good-bye, sire,” said he. 
Then he gave a curious laugh. “ Moriturus te 
saluto” he added, laughing still. 

« What’s the matter, man ? ” I cried, springing 
up and catching him by the arm. 

“ I haven’t a shilling in the world; my creditors 
147 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


are in full chase ; I’m posted for a card debt at the 
club. If I had this I could borrow. Good God, 
you promised it to her ! ” 

“Yes, I promised it to her.” 

“ Have you seen her again? ” 

“No. I must.” 

“ To whom will you give it ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Not to you.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“You’re not fit for it.” 

He took out his handkerchief and wiped his fore- 
head. 

“ I was no more fit for it yesterday,” he said. 

“ I won’t argue it.” 

“ As you please, sire,” said he with a shrug, and 
he seemed to pull himself together. He rose and 
stood before me with a smile on his lips. 

I sat down, took a piece of paper, wrote a draft, 
leaving the amount unstated, and pushed it across 
to him. He looked down at it in wonder. Then 
his face lit up with eagerness. 

“You mean — you mean ?” he stammered. 

“ My ransom,” said I. 

“ Mine ! ” he cried. 

“No, it is mine, the price of my freedom.” 

He lifted the piece of paper in a hand that 
trembled. 

“It’s a lot of money,” he said. “Eighty or 
ninety thousand marks.” 

“ My name is good for that.” 

He looked me in the face, opening his lips but 
not speaking. Then he thrust out his hand to me. 
I took it; I was as much moved as he. 

“ Don’t tempt me again,” I said. 

He gripped my hand hard and fiercely ; when he 
148 


KING AT A PRICE 


released it I waved it toward the door. I could trust 
myself no more. He turned to go ; but I called to 
him again : 

44 Don’t say anything to her. I must see her.” 

He faced me with an agitated look. 

44 What for ? ” he asked. 

I made him no answer, but lay back in my chair. 
He came toward me slowly and with hesitation. I 
looked up in his face. 

“ I’ll pay you back,” he said. 

44 I don’t want the money.” 

44 And I don’t mean the money. In fact, I’m 
bad at paying money back. Why have you done 
it ? ” 

44 I have done it for myself, not for you. You 
owe me nothing. My honour was pawned, and I 
have redeemed it. 1 was bound ; I am free.” 

His eyes were fixed intently on me with a sort 
of wonder, but I motioned him again to the door. 
He obeyed me without another word ; after a bow 
he turned and went out. I rose, and having walked 
to the window, looked down into the street. I saw 
him crossing the roadway with a slow step and bent 
head. He was going toward his club, not to his 
house. I stood watching him till he turned round 
a corner and disappeared. Then I drew a long 
breath and returned to my chair. I had hardly 
seated myself when Baptiste came in with a note. 
It was from the Countess. 44 Aren’t you coming 
to-day? ” That was all. 

4 4 There is no answer,” I said, and Baptiste left 
me. 

For I must carry the answer myself; and the 
answer must be, 44 Yes, to-day, but not to-morrow.” 

There was doubtless some extravagance in my 
149 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


conception of the situation, and I have not sought 
to conceal or modify it. It seemed to me that I 
could play my part only at the cost of what was 
dearest to me in the world. Money had served 
with Wetter ; it would not serve here. My heart 
must pay, my heart and hers. I remember that I 
sat in my chair murmuring again and again, “ To- 
day, but not to-morrow.” 


150 


CHAPTER XIII 


I PROMISE NOT TO LAUGH 

I take it that generally when middle age looks 
back on the emotions of youth and its temptations, 
it is to smile at the wildness of the first and to marvel 
at the victories of the second. That is not my mood 
when I recall the relation between the Countess and 
myself. For sometimes, while passion becomes less 
fierce, aspiration grows less exalted. The man who 
calls most, if not all, things vanity, will yield to de- 
sires which some high-strung ideal in the boy would 
rout. At forty the feelings are not so strong as at 
twenty, but neither are the ambitions, the dreams, 
the conception of self. It is easier to resist, but it 
may not seem so well worth while. Thus it is with 
me. I wonder not at the beginning or progress of 
my first love, but at the manner of its end, asking 
myself incredulously what motive or what notion 
had power to hold back the flood of youth, seeking 
almost in vain to re-discover the spring that moved 
me then. Yet, though I can not feel it again, I know 
dimly w r hat it was, that high, strange, noble, ludi- 
crous ideal of my office which so laid hold on me 
as to scatter passion’s forces and wrest me from the 
arms of her I loved. I can not now so think of my 
kingship, so magnify its claim, or conceive that it 
matters so greatly to the world how I hold it or 
what manner of man I show myself. I come to the 
conclusion (though it may seem to border on para- 
dox) that in a like case I could not, or should not, 
151 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


do now what I did then. I suppose that it is some 
such process as this, a weakening of emotion parallel 
with a lowering of ideal, that makes us, as we grow 
older, think ourselves so much wiser and know our- 
selves to be so little better. 

I had charged Wetter to say nothing to the 
Countess, but he disobeyed me. He had been to her 
and told her all that passed between us. I knew 
this the moment I entered her room. Her agitated, 
nervous air showed me that she had been informed 
of the withdrawal of my gift, was aware that the 
Embassy was no longer hers to give to Wetter 
or another, and was wondering helplessly what 
the meaning of the change might be. To her, 
as to W etter, the death of Hammerfeldt must have 
seemed the removal of an impediment ; only 
through the curious processes of my own mind did 
it raise an obstacle insurmountable. She had liked 
the Prince, but feared him ; she imagined my feel- 
ings to have been the same, and perhaps in his life- 
time they were. Then should not I, who had been 
brought to defy him living, more readily disregard 
him dead? 

But against her knowledge of me and her quick 
wit no preconception could hold out long. She was 
by me in a moment, asking : 

“ What has happened ? What’s wrong, Augus- 
tin ? ” 

I had pictured myself describing to her what I 
felt, making her understand, sympathise, and, even 
while she grieved, approve. The notion was so 
strong in me that I did not doubt of finding words 
for it — words eloquent of its force and dignity. But 
before her simple, impulsive question I was dumb. 
A wave of shyness swept over me ; not even to her 
152 


I PROMISE NOT TO LAUGH 


could I divulge my thoughts, not even from her risk 
the smile of ridicule or the blankness of non-appre- 
hension. I became wretchedly certain that I should 
be only absurd and priggish, that she would not be- 
lieve me, would see only excuse and hypocrisy in 
what I said. It was so difficult also not to seem to 
accuse her, to charge her with grasping at what I 
had freely offered, with having, as the phrase runs, 
designs on me, with wishing to take power where 
she had been impelled to bestow love. She pressed 
me with more questions, but still I found no an- 
swer. 

“ I can’t do it,” I was reduced to stammering. 
“ I can’t do it. He’s not the man. I must find 
another.” 

* Of the Prince’s party ? ” she asked quickly. 

“ I don’t know. I must find somebody ; I must 
find somebody for myself.” 

I had sat down, and she was standing opposite 
to me. 

“Find somebody for yourself?” she repeated 
slowly. “For yourself? What do you mean by 
that, Augustin ? ” 

“ I must choose a man for myself.” 

“ You mean — you mean without my help ? ” 

I returned no answer, but sat looking at her with 
a dreary, appealing gaze. She was silent for a few 
moments ; then she said suddenly : 

“ You haven’t offered to kiss me.” 

I rose and kissed her on the lips ; she stood still 
and did not kiss me. 

“ Thank you,” she said. “ I asked you to kiss 
me, and you’ve kissed me. Thank you.” She 
paused and added, “ Have I grown so much older 
in a day ? ” 


153 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ It is not that. It’s ” 

“ It is that,” she said. She turned away and 
seated herself on the sofa, where she sat with her 
eyes fixed on the ground. Then she gave a short 
laugh. 44 I knew it would come,” she said, 44 but this 
is — is rather sudden.” 

I ran to her and threw myself on my knees by 
her. I lifted my arm and put it round her neck 
and drew her face down to mine. 

“ No, no, no,” I whispered passionately. 44 It’s 
not that.” 

She let me kiss her now many times, and presently 
returned my kisses. Her breath caught in gasps, 
and she clutched my hand imploringly. 

“ You do love me ? ” she murmured. 

“ Yes, yes.” 

“Then why — why? Why do you do this?” 
She drew back, looking in my face in a bewildered 
way. Then a sudden brightness came into her eyes. 
44 Is it for me ? Are you thinking of me ? ” 

“No,” said I in stubborn honesty, “ I was not 
thinking of you.” 

44 Don’t !” she cried, for she did not believe me. 
“ What do I care ? I cared once ; I don’t care 
now.” 

“It wasn’t because of you,” I repeated obsti- 
nately. 

‘ 4 Then tell me, tell me ! Because I believe you 
still love me.” 

I made shift to tell her, but my stumbling words 
belittled the great conception : I could not find the 
phrases that alone might convey the truth to her ; 
but I held on, trying to say something of what I 
meant. 

44 1 never tried to interfere, ” she broke in once. 

154 


I PROMISE NOT TO LAUGH 


“ I made you interfere, I myself,” was my lame 
answer; and the rest I said was as lame. 

“I don’t understand,” she murmured forlornly 
and petulantly. “ Oh, I suppose I see what you 
mean in a way ; but I don’t believe it. I don’t see 
why you should feel like that about it. Do men 
feel like that? Women don’t.” 

“ I can’t help it, ” I pleaded, pressing her hand. 
She drew it away gently % 

44 And what will it mean ? ” she asked. 44 Am I 
never to see you ? ” 

44 Often, often, I hope, but ” 

“I’m not to talk to you about — about important 
things, things we both care about ? ” 

I felt the absurdity of such a position. The ab- 
stract made concrete is so often made absurd. 

44 Then you won’t come often ; you won’t care 
about coming.” Something in her thoughts made 
her flush suddenly. She met my eyes and took cour- 
age. 44 You asked a good deal of me,” she said. 

I made no answer; she understood my silence. 
She rose, leaving me on my knees. I threw myself 
on the sofa and she went to the hearthrug. She 
knew that what I had asked of her I asked no more. 
There was a long silence between us. At last she 
spoke in a very low voice. 

44 It’s only a little sooner than it must have been,” 
she said. 44 And I — I suppose I must be glad that 
it’s come home to me now instead of — later. I 
daresay you’ll be glad of that too, Augustin.” 

44 How are we to live, how are we to meet, what 
are we to be to one another ? ” she broke out the 
next moment. 4 4 We can’t go on as if nothing had 
happened.” 

44 1 don’t know.” 


155 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


“ You don’t know ! Yet you’re hard as iron 
about it. Oh, I daresay you're right ; you must be. 
It’s only a little sooner.” 

She turned her back to me, and stood looking 
down into the fire. I was trying to answer her 
question, to realise how it would be between us, 
how, having lived in the real, we must now dwell 
in the unreal with one another. I was wondering 
how I could meet her and not show that I loved 
her, how I could love her and yet be true to my 
idol, the conception that governed me. Suddenly 
she spoke, without turning or lifting her head. 

“ Whom shall you send to Paris ? ” 

“ 1 don’t know. I haven’t settled.” 

“ Wetter mentioned somebody else — besides him- 
self?” 

“ Only Max,” said I, with a dreary laugh. 

“ Hadn’t you better send Max ? That is, if you 
think him fit for it.” 

I thought that she was relieving her petulance 
by a bitter jest ; but a moment later she said again, 
still without turning round : 

“ Send Max.” 

I rose and walked slowly to where she stood. 
Hearing my movement, she faced me. 

“ Send Max,” she said again, holding out her 
hands toward me, clasped together. “ I — I can’t 
stay here like— in the way you say. And you? 
How could you do it ? ” 

“ You would go with him? ” I exclaimed. 

“ Of course.” 

“ For five years ? ” 

“ When I come back,” she said, “ you will be 
twenty-five. You will be married to Elsa. I shall 
be thirty-four. There will be no difficulty about 
156 


I PROMISE NOT TO LAUGH 


how we are to treat one another when I come back, 
Augustin.” 

“ My God ! ” I murmured, looking in her eyes. 
As I looked they filled with tears. 

“ My dear, my dear,” she said, raising her arms 
and setting her hands on my shoulders, “ I have 
never forgotten that I was a fool. Yes, once, for a 
few moments yesterday. I shall remember at Paris 
what a fool I was, and I shan’t forget it when I 
come back. Only I wish it didn’t break one’s heart 
to be a fool.” 

“ I won’t let you go ; I won’t send him. I can’t.” 

“Will it be better to have it happen here grad- 
ually before my eyes every day ? I should kill my- 
self. I couldn’t bear it. I should see you finding 
out, changing, forgetting, laughing. Oh, what a 
miserable woman I am ! ” She turned away sud- 
denly and flung herself into an armchair. 

“ Why did you do it ? ” she cried. “ Why did 
you ? ” 

“ I loved you. ’ ’ 

“ Yes, yes, yes. That’s the absurdity, the hor- 
rible absurdity. And I loved you, and I love you. 
Isn’t it funny ? ” She laughed hysterically. “ How 
funny we shall think it soon ! When I come back 
from Paris ! No, before then ! We shall laugh 
about it ! ” She broke into sobs, hiding her face in 
her hands. 

“ I shall never laugh about it,” I said. 

“Sha’n’t you?” she asked, looking up and gaz- 
ing intently at me. Then she rose and came toward 
me. “No, I don’t think you will. Don’t, dear. 
But I don’t think you will. You won’t laugh about 
it, will you ? You won’t laugh, Csesar ? ” 

I bent low and kissed her hand. I should have 
n 157 


THE KING S MIRROR 


broken down had I tried to speak. As I raised my 
head from her hand, she kissed my brow. Then she 
wiped her eyes, saying: 

44 You’ll send Max to Paris? You promised me 
this Embassy. You shall be good and great and 
independent, and all you say you mean to be and 
must be afterward. But you promised me this Em- 
bassy. Well, I ask your promise of you. I ask it 
for Max.” 

“ You would go away from me ? ” 

44 Yes. I want to grow old away from you. I 
ask the Embassy for Max.” 

I stood silent, wretched, undecided. She came 
near to me again. 

4 4 Don’t refuse me, dear,” she said in a low, un- 
steady voice. 64 1 don’t ask much of you; just to 
let me go, and not to laugh. I shall never ask any- 
thing again of you. I have given you so much, and 
I would have given you anything you asked. Don’t 
refuse me.” 

44 It breaks my heart.” 

44 Poor heart, poor heart ! ” she whispered softly, 
with a sad, mocking smile. 44 It will mend, Cassar.” 

44 You — you mean it ? ” 

44 With all my heart and soul.” 

44 Then so be it.” 

She came to me and held out her arms. I clasped 
her in mine, and we kissed one another. Then both 
of us sat down again, and there was silence. Only 
once she spoke. 

44 How soon shall we go ? ” she asked. 

44 In about three weeks or a month, I suppose,” I 
answered. 

We were sitting silent when we heard a step on 
the stairs. 44 Hark! ” she said. 44 It’s Max’s step.” 

158 


I PROMISE NOT TO LAUGH 


She rose quickly and turned the lamp lower, then 
seated herself in shadow. “ May I tell him about 
it now ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes — if it must be so.” 

“ Yes, it must.” She kissed her hand to me, say- 
ing, “ Good-bye.” The door opened, and Max von 
Sempach came in. Before he could greet me she 
began : 

“ Max, what do you think brings the King here 
to-day ? ” 

Max professed himself at a loss. 

“ He’s come about you,” she said. “We’ve been 
talking about you.” 

“ Have you? What about me ? ” he asked, going 
up to her. She rose and laid her hand on his 
arm. 

“ The King is going to give our side a turn,” she 
said with a marvellous composure and even an ap- 
pearance of gaiety. 

“ What ? ” cried Max. “ Are you going to send 
Wetter to Paris, sire ? ” 

“ No,” said I. “ Not Wetter. He doesn’t want 
it now, and anyhow he’s not fit for it.” 

“ He doesn’t want it ! Oh, but he does ! ” 

“Max, you mustn’t contradict the King. But 
one of our people is to have it. Guess who 
it is ! ” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I don’t know who it is if it’s not Wetter.” 

“It’s you,” she said. “ Isn’t it, sire ? ” 

“ If he likes it,” said I. “ Do you like it ? ” 

“ Like it ! ” he exclaimed. “ Oh, but I can’t be- 
lieve it ! Something of the sort has been the dream 
of my life.” 

“ It is yours if you will have it,” said I, 

159 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


“ And the dream of your life will come true,” she 
said. “Fancy that! I didn’t know it ever hap- 
pened.” And she glanced at me. 

“ Yes, the dream of his life shall come true,” said 
I. “You’re very fit for it, and I’m very glad to 
give it to one of your side.” 

“ The King belongs to no party,” said she. She 
paused and added, “ And to no person. He stands 
apart and alone.” 

I hardly heeded Max’s profuse thanks and honest, 
open exultation. 

“ It’s too good to be true,” said he. 

This has always seemed to me a strange little 
scene between us three. The accepted conventions 
of emotion required that it should raise in me and 
in her a feeling of remorse ; for Max was so honest, 
so simple, so exclusively given over to gratitude. 
So far as I recollect, however, I had no such feel- 
ing, and I do not think that the Countess differed 
from me in this respect. I was envious of him, not 
because he took her with him (for he did not take 
her love), but simply because he had got something 
he liked, was very pleased, and in a good temper 
with the world and himself. The dream of his life, 
as he declared impetuously, was fulfilled. The 
dream of ours was shattered. How were we to re- 
proach ourselves on his account? It would have 
been the Quixotry of conscience. 

“ I daresay you won t like it so much as you 
think,” said I, with a childish desire to make him a 
little less comfortable. 

“ Oh, yes, I shall ! And you’ll like it, won’t 
you ? ” He turned to his wife affectionately. 

“As if I should let you take it if I didn’t like 
it ? ” she answered, smiling. “Think how I shall 
160 


I PROMISE NOT TO LAUGH 

show off before all my good countrywomen in 
Paris ! ” 

“ I don’t know how to thank your Majesty,” said 
Max. 

“ I don’t want any thanks. I haven’t done it for 
thanks. I thought you the best man.” 

“No, no,” he murmured. “I like to think it’s 
partly friendship for my wife and me. Everybody 
will say so.” 

I looked up with a little start. 

“ I suppose they will,” said I. 

“ Yes, you’ll be handsomely abused.” 

“That’ll be rather funny,” I remarked almost 
unconsciously, as I looked across to the Countess, 
smiling. 

“ I mean — you don’t mind my saying ? ” asked 
Max; and when I nodded, he went on, “They’ll 
point out that you’re turning to our side the mo- 
ment that the Prince is dead. Yes, it will make a 
good deal of talk ; they’ll call it the beginning of a 
new era.” 

“ Perhaps they’ll be right, ” said she in a low 
voice. 

I rose to my feet. I recognised the truth in what 
Max said, and it seemed to add a touch of irony 
that the situation had lacked. Hammerfeldt him- 
self, if he looked down from heaven (as Victoria 
picturesquely suggested), would be amused at the 
interpretation put on my action ; it would suit his 
humour w r ell to see the great sacrifice that I had 
made at the shrine of his teaching twisted into a 
repudiation of his views and a prompt defiance of 
the authority which he in life had exercised. His 
partisans would be furious with me, they would say 
I flouted his memory. That would be strange to 
161 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


hear when the figure of the Countess was still fresh 
before my eyes, and the sound of her sobs rang yet 
in my ears. I shrugged my shoulders. 

“ There are harder things to bear than a little 
abuse and a little gossip. I can’t help it if they 
don’t understand the grounds of my action.” 

“ It’s so soon after the Prince’s death,” said 
Max. 

“ The thing could not be delayed ; it had to be 
done at once,” said I. 

I moved toward her to take my leave. She was 
standing close by her husband’s side ; her face was 
still in shadow. 

“We shall have so much to do before we go,” she 
said, “ that we can hope to see very little more of 
your Majesty.” 

“Yes,” broke in Max, “we must go down and 
arrange everything on the estate ; we’re going to 
be away for so long.” 

“Oh, but I shall hope to see you again. You 
must come and say good-bye to me. Now I must 
leave you.” 

“ Good-bye, and again thank you,” she said. 

She came with me to the door, and down the 
stairs. Max walked in front, and went on to open 
the door and see that my carriage was in readiness. 
For an instant I clasped her hand. 

“ I shan’t see you again,” she whispered. “ Good- 
bye.” 

I left her standing on the lowest step, her head 
proudly erect and a smile on her lips. It was as 
she said, I did not see her again ; for they went to 
the country the next day, and when Max came to 
take a formal leave of me she excused herself on the 
score of indisposition. 


162 


I PROMISE NOT TO LAUGH 


To complete the picture I ought to describe the 
wrath of those who had formed Hammerfeldt’s en- 
tourage , the gleeful satisfaction of the opposing 
party, the articles in the journals, the speculations, 
guesses, and assertions as to my reasons, temper, 
intention, and expressions. I should paint also my 
mother’s mingled annoyance and relief, vexation 
that I favoured the Liberals, and joy that the 
Countess von Sempach went to Paris ; Victorias 
absolute bewilderment and ineffectual divings and 
fishings for anything that might throw light on so 
mysterious a matter; William Adolphus’ intense 
self-complacency in my following of his advice, 
accompanied by a patronising rebuke for my hav- 
ing thought it necessary to “do it so abruptly.” 
All these good people, as they acted their little 
parts and filled their corners of the stage, had their 
own ideas of the meaning of the play and their 
own estimate of the importance of the characters. 
They all fitted into their places in my conception 
of it, so that not one was superfluous; all were 
needed, and all worked in unconsciousness to 
heighten the irony, to point the comedy, and to 
frame the tragedy in its most effective, most in- 
congruous setting. For in this real life the stage- 
manager takes no pains to have all things in 
harmony nor to lead us through gradual and well- 
attempered emotions to the climax of exalted feel- 
ing, nor to banish from our sight all that jars and 
clashes with the pathos of the piece. Rather he 
works by contrasts, by strange juxtapositions, by 
surprises, careless how many of the audience follow 
his mind, not heeding dissatisfaction or pleasure, 
recking nothing whether we applaud or damn his 
play. 


163 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


Well, here was I, Augustin, twenty years of age, 
and determined to reign alone. And my Countess 
was gone to Paris. Did you look down from 
heaven, old Hammerfeldt ? Victoria thought you 
did. Well, then, was not the boy’s work absurdly, 
extravagantly, bravely done ? 


164 


CHAPTER XIV 


PLEASURE TAKES LEAVE TO PROTEST 

During the months that followed the departure of 
the Sempachs I engaged myself busily in public 
affairs, in the endeavour to gain better acquaintance 
with the difficult trade which was mine. I do not 
throw off impressions lightly, and I was disinclined 
for gaiety, or for more society than the obligations 
of my position demanded. My mother approved 
of my zeal; a convinced partisan, she enjoyed that 
happy confidence in her own views which makes 
people certain that everybody can study their 
opinions only to embrace them. Attention is the 
sole preliminary to conversion. I will not speak 
further of this matter here than to say that I was 
doomed to disappoint Princess Heinrich in this 
respect. I am glad of it. The world moves, and 
although it is very difficult for persons so artificially 
situated as I have been to move with it, yet we can 
and must move after it, lumbering along in its 
wake more or less slowly and awkwardly. We 
hold on this tenure ; if we do not perform it — 
well, we end in country-houses in England. 

It was, I suppose, owing to these occupations 
that I failed to notice the relations between Vic- 
toria and her husband until they had reached a 
rather acute crisis. Either from a desire to re-en- 
force the number of my guardian angels, or merely 
because they found themselves very comfortable, 
the pair had taken up a practically permanent resi- 
165 


THE KING’S MIRROR 

dence with me. I was very glad to have them, 
and assigned them a handsome set of apartments 
quite at the other end of the house. Here they 
lived in considerable splendour, seeing a great deal 
of company and assuming the position of social 
leaders. Victoria at least was admirably suited to 
play such a part, and I certainly did not grudge it 
to her ; for my mother I can not speak so confi- 
dently. William Adolphus, having abandoned his 
military pursuits, led an idle, lounging life. In 
consequence he grew indolent ; his stoutness in- 
creased. I mention this personal detail merely be- 
cause I believe that it had a considerable influence 
on Victoria’s feelings toward him. Her varied na- 
ture included a vivid streak of the romantic, and 
with every expansion in his belt and every multi- 
plication of the folds of his chin William Adolphus 
came to satisfy this instinct in her less and less. 
She sought other interests ; she contrived to com- 
bine very dexterously the femvie incomprise with 
the leader of fashion ; she posed as a patron of let- 
ters and the arts, indulging in intellectual flirtations 
with professors and other learned folk. There was 
no harm in this, and William Adolphus would not 
have been in the smallest degree disturbed by it. 
He had all the self-confidence given by a complete 
want of imagination. Unhappily, however, she 
began to treat him with something very like con- 
tempt, allowed him to perceive that his company 
did not satisfy her spiritual and mental require- 
ments, and showed herself more than willing that 
he should choose his own associates and dispose of 
his own time. He was not resentful ; he confessed 
that his wife’s friends bored him, and availed him- 
self amply and good-naturedly of the liberty which 
166 


PLEASURE TAKES LEAVE TO PROTEST 


her expressed preferences afforded him. He de- 
voted himself to his sport, his dogs, and his horses ; 
this was all very well. He also became a noted 
patron of the lighter forms of the drama ; this, for 
reasons that I shall indicate directly, was not quite 
so well. Out of this last taste of William Adol- 
phus came the strained relations between his wife 
and himself to which I have referred. 

Among those who have crossed my path few 
have stamped themselves more clearly on my 
memory than Coralie Mansoni. She was by no 
means so great a force in my life as was the 
Countess von Sempach, but she remains a sin- 
gularly vivid image before my eyes. Born heaven 
knew where, and of parents whom I doubt whether 
she herself could name, seeming to hail from the 
borderland of Italy and France, a daughter of the 
Riviera, she had strayed and tumbled through a 
youth of which she would speak in moments of 
expansion. I, however, need say nothing of it. 
When I saw her first she was playing a small part 
in a light opera at Forstadt. A few weeks later 
she had assumed leading roles , and was the idol of 
the young men. She was then about twenty- 
three, tall, dark, of full figure, doomed to a brevity 
of beauty, but at the moment magnificence itself. 
Every intellectual gift she appeared to lack, ex- 
cept a strangely persistent resolution of purpose 
and an admirably lucid conception of her own in- 
terest. She was not in the least brilliant or even 
amusing in general conversation. She worshipped 
her own beauty; she owed to it all she was, and 
paid the debt with a defiant assertion of its su- 
premacy. None could contradict her. She was 
very lazy as regards physical exertion, extremely 
167 


THE KING S MIRROR 


fond of eating and drinking, a careful manager of 
her money. All this sounds, and was, very un- 
attractive. On the other side of the account may 
be put a certain simplicity, an indolent kindness, a 
desire to make folks comfortable, and (what I liked 
most) a mental honesty which caused her to assess 
both herself and other people with a nearness to 
her and their real value that was at times abso- 
lutely startling. It seemed as though a person, 
otherwise neither clever nor of signally high char- 
acter, had been gifted with a clairvoyance which 
allowed her to read hearts, and a relentless, fine 
sincerity that forced her to declare what she read 
to all who cared to listen to her. Whatever she 
did or did not in that queer life of hers, she never 
flattered man or woman, and fashioned no false 
image of herself. 

William Adolphus made her the rage, so 
strangely things fall out. He went five nights 
running to see her. Next week came a new piece, 
with Coralie in the chief part. My brother-in-law 
had sent for her to his box. He was a Prince, a 
great man, exalted, of what seemed boundless 
wealth. Coralie was languidly polite. William 
Adolphus’ broad face must have worn a luxurious 
smile. He did Coralie the honour of calling on 
her at her pretty villa, where she lived with her 
aunt-in-law (oddly selected relationship !), Madame 
Briande. He was received with acquiescence; en- 
thusiasm was not among Coralie ’s accomplish- 
ments. However, she lazily drawled out the opin- 
ion that Monseigneur was bon enfant. William 
Adolphus mounted into the seventh heaven. He 
came home and did not tell his wife where he had 
been. This silence was significant. As a rule, if 
168 


PLEASURE TAKES LEAVE TO PROTEST 


he but visited the tailor or had his hair cut, he told 
everybody all about it. He had really no idea 
that some things were uninteresting. I do not 
mean to say that this trait constitutes exactly a 
peculiarity. 

My brother-in-law and I were very good friends. 
He proposed that I should accompany him to the 
theatre, and afterward be his guest, for he was to 
entertain Coralie at supper. 

“ But where ? ” I asked with a smile. 

‘ 4 There is an excellent restaurant where I have 
a private room,” he confessed. 

“ And they don’t know you? ” 

“ Of course they know me.” 

“ I mean, where they would be willing to know 
neither you nor me.” 

“ Oh, I see what you mean. That’s all right.” 

So I went with William Adolphus. Several 
men whom I knew were present, among them 
Wetter and M. le Vicomte de Varvilliers, second 
secretary of the French Embassy and a mirror of 
fashion. We were quite informal. Varvilliers sat 
on my left and employed himself in giving me an 
account of my right-hand neighbour Coralie. I 
listened absently, for the sight of Wetter had 
stirred other thoughts in my mind. I had not yet 
spoken to Coralie; my brother-in-law monopolised 
her. 

“ I ought to speak to her, I suppose ? ” I said to 
Varvilliers at last. 

“ A thousand pardons for engrossing your Maj- 
esty ! ” he cried. “ Yes, I think you should.” 

William Adolphus’ voice flowed on in the ac- 
count of a match between one of his horses and 
one of somebody else’s. I turned to follow Var- 
169 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


villiers’ advice; rather to my surprise, I found 
Coralie’s eyes fixed on me with an appearance of 
faint amusement. She began to address me with- 
out waiting for me to say anything. 

“Why do you listen to what Varvilliers says 
about me instead of finding out about me your- 
self? ” she asked. 

“ How do you know he talked of you, mademoi- 
selle ?” 

She shrugged her shoulders and returned to her 
salad. William Adolphus asked her a question; 
she nodded without looking up from the salad. I 
began to eat my salad. 

“ It’s a good salad,” I observed, after a few 
mouthfuls. 

“Very,” said Coralie; she turned her great eyes 
on me. 4 4 And, mon Dieu , what a rare thing ! ” 
she added with a sigh. 

Probably she would expect a touch of gallantry. 

44 The perfection of everything is rare,” said I, 
looking pointedly in her face. She put up her 
hand, lightly fingered the curls on her forehead, 
smiled at me, and turned again to her salad. I 
laughed. She looked up again quickly. 

44 You laugh at me? ” she asked, not resentfully, 
but with an air of frank inquiry. 

“No, at the human race, mademoiselle. It is 
we, not you, who excite laughter.” 

She regarded me with apparent curiosity, and 
gradually began to smile. 44 Why ? ” she asked, 
just showing her level white teeth. 

44 You haven’t learned yet ? ” 

William Adolphus began to speak to her. You 
would have sworn she had a deaf ear that side. 
She had finished her salad and sat turned toward 
170 


PLEASURE TAKES LEAVE TO PROTEST 


me. If a very white shoulder could at all console 
my brother-in-law, he had an admirable view of 
one. Apparently he was not content ; he pushed 
his chair back with a noise and called to me : 

44 Shall we smoke ? I have eaten enough.” 

44 With all my heart,” I answered. 

46 In fact he has eaten too much,” observed 
Coralie, by no means in an 44 aside.” 44 He and 
I — we both eat too much. He is fat already. I 
shall be.” 

44 You are talkative to-night, mademoiselle,” said 
Varvilliers, who was offering her a cigarette. 

44 1 believe there is to-night some one worth 
talking to,” she retorted. 

44 Alas, and not last night ? ” he cried in affected 
despair. 

I, however, thinking that it would ill become me 
to eat my brother-in-law’s supper and then spoil his 
sport, bowed to the lady and crossed over to where 
Wetter was standing. Near him was a group of 
young men laughing and talking with Madame Bri- 
ande ; he seemed to pay little heed to their chatter. 
Varvilliers followed me, and William Adolphus sat 
down by Coralie. But I had not been talking to 
Wetter more than two minutes when the lady rose, 
left my brother-in-law, and came to join our group. 
She took her stand close by me. Half attracted and 
half repelled by her, young enough still to be shy, 
I was much embarrassed ; the other men were smil- 
ing — I must except William Adolphus — and Var- 
villiers whispered to me : 

44 Les beaux yeux de votre couronne , sire” 

Coralie overheard his warning; she was not in 
the least put out. 

44 Don’t disturb yourself,” she said to Varvilliers. 

171 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


“ The King is not a fool ; he doesn’t suppose that 
people forget what he is.” 

“ You’ve judged him on short acquaintance,” said 
Yarvilliers, rather vexed. 

“ It’s my way ; and why shouldn’t I give my 
opinion ? ” 

Wetter laughed, and said to the Frenchman : 

“ You had better not ask for your character, I 
think, Vicomte.” 

“ Heavens, no ! ” cried he. “ Come, I see Mon- 
seigneur all alone ! ” 

“You are right,” said Coralie. “Go and talk 
to him. The King and I will talk.” 

They went off, Wetter laughing, Varvilliers 
still a little ruffled by his encounter. Coralie 
passed her arm through mine and led me to a 
sofa. I had recovered my composure, was inter- 
ested, and amused. 

“ Briande,” she said suddenly, “ is always deplor- 
ing my stupidity. ‘ How will you get on,’ she says, 
‘ without wit ? Men are ruled by wit though they 
are won by faces.’ So she says. Well, I don’t 
know. Wit is not in my line.” She looked at me 
half questioningly, half defiantly. 

“ I perceive no deficiency in the quality, made- 
moiselle,” said I. 

“ Then you have not known witty women,” she 
retorted tranquilly. “ But I am not altogether 
dull. I am not like Monseigneur there.” 

“ My brother-in-law ? ” 

“ So I am told.” 

As she said this she looked again at me and 
began to laugh. I laughed also. But I could 
not very well discuss William Adolphus with 
her. 


172 


PLEASURE TAKES LEAVE TO PROTEST 


“ What man do you desire to rule with this wit ? ” 
I asked. 

“ One can’t tell when it might be useful,” said 
she, with a barely perceptible smile. 

44 Surely beauty is more powerful ? ” 

44 With Monseigneur ? ” 

44 Oh, never mind Monseigneur.” 

4 4 But not with men of another kind.” 

44 Some men are not to be ruled by any 
means.” 

44 You think so ? ” 

44 Take W etter now ? ” 

44 1 would give him a week’s resistance.” 

44 Varvilliers ? ” 

44 A day. ” 

I did not put the third question, but I looked at 
her with a smile. She saw my meaning, of course, 
but she did not tell me how long a resistance she 
would predict for me. I thought that I had talked 
enough to her, and, since she would not let me 
alone, I determined to take my leave. I wished her 
good-night. She received my adieu with marked 
indifference. 

44 1 am very glad to have made your acquaint- 
ance,” said I. 

44 Why, yes,” she answered. 44 You are thinking 
that I am a strange creature, a new experience,” and 
with this she turned away, although I was about to 
speak again. 

Varvilliers’ way lay in the same direction as mine, 
and I took him with me. He chatted gaily as we 
went. What I liked in the Vicomte was his confi- 
dent denial of life’s alleged seriousness. He seemed 
much amused at the situation which he proceeded 
to unfold to me. According to him, Wetter was 
12 173 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


passionately, my brother-in-law inanely, enamoured 
of Coralie. Wetter was ready to ruin himself in 
purse and prospects for her, and would gladly 
marry her. William Adolphus would be capable 
of defying his wife, his mother-in-law, and public 
opinion. But Coralie, he explained, cared little for 
either. Wetter could give her nothing, from 
William Adolphus she had already gained the 
advancement which it was in his power to secure 
for her. 

“ She wanted something new, so she made him 
bring your Majesty,” he ended, laughing. 

“ Was my brother-in-law unwilling? ” 

“ Oh, no. He didn’t understand,” laughed Var- 
villiers. “ He was proud to bring you.” 

“ It’s rather awkward for me. I suppose I 
oughtn’t to have come ? ” 

“ Ah, sire, when we have enjoyed ourselves, let 
us not be ungrateful. She amused you ? ” 

“ She certainly interested me.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. What more do 
you want ? ” he seemed to ask. But I was won- 
dering whether I should be justified in lending 
countenance to these distractions of William 
Adolphus. The Frenchman’s quick wit overtook 
my thoughts. 

“ If you wish to rescue the Prince from danger, 
sire,” he said, laughing, “ you can’t do better than 
come often.” 

“ It seems to me that I’m in danger of quarrelling 
either with my sister or with my brother-in-law.” 

“ If I were you, I should feel myself in a danger 
more delightful.” 

4 4 But why not yourself equally, Vicomte ? 
Aren’t you in love with her ? ” 

174 


PLEASURE TAKES LEAVE TO PROTEST 


“Not I,” he answered, with a laugh and a shake 
of his head. 

“ But why not ? ” I asked, laughing also. 

“ Can you ask ? There is but one possible 
reason for a mans not being in love with Coralie 
Mansoni.” 

“ Tell me it, Vicomte.” 

“ Because he has been, sire.” 

“ A good safeguard, but of no use to me.” 

“ Why, no, not at present,” answered Varvilliers. 

The carriage drew up at his lodgings. I was not 
inclined for sleep, and readily acceded to his request 
that I should pay him a visit. Having dismissed 
the carriage ( I was but a little way from my own 
house), I mounted the stairs and found myself in a 
very snug room. He put me in an armchair and 
gave me a cigar. We talked long and intimately 
as the hours of the night rolled on. He spoke, half 
in reminiscence, half in merry rhapsody, of the joys 
of living, the delight of throwing the reins on the 
neck of youth. As I looked at his trim figure, his 
handsome face, merry eyes, and dashing air, all that 
he said seemed very reasonable and very right ; there 
was a good defence for it at the bar of nature’s tri- 
bunal. It was honest too, free from cant, affecta- 
tion, and pretence ; it was a recognition of facts, 
and enlisted truth on its side. It needed no argu- 
ing, and he gave it none ; the spirit that inspired 
also vindicated it. I could not help recalling the 
agonies and struggles which my passion for the 
Countess von Sempach had occasioned me. At 
first I thought that I would tell him about this 
affair, but I found myself ashamed. And I was 
ashamed because I had resisted the passion ; it 
would have been very easy to tell him had I 
175 


THE KING S MIRROR 


yielded. But the merry eyes would twinkle in 
amusement at my high-strung folly, as I had seen 
them twinkle at my brother-in-law’s stolidity. He 
said something incidentally which led me to fancy 
that he had heard about the Countess and had re- 
ceived a mistaken impression of the facts ; I did 
not correct what appeared to be his idea. I neither 
confirmed nor contradicted it. I said to myself 
that it was nothing to me what notion he had of 
my conduct ; in reality I did not desire him to 
know the truth. I clung to the conviction that I 
could justify what had seemed my hard- won vic- 
tory, but I did not feel as though I could justify it 
to him. He would laugh, be a little puzzled, and 
dismiss the matter as inexplicable. His own creed 
was not swathed in clouds, nor dim, nor hard clearly 
to see and picture ; it was all very straightforward. 
Properly it was no creed ; it was a course of action 
based on a mode of feeling which neither demanded 
nor was patient of defence or explanation. The 
circumstances of my life were such that never be- 
fore had I been brought into contact with a similar 
temperament or a similar practice. When they 
were thus suddenly presented to me they seemed 
endowed with a most attractive simplicity, with a 
naturalness, with what I must call a wholesome- 
ness ; the objections I felt to be overstrained, un- 
real, morbid. Varvilliers’ feet were on firm ground ; 
on what shaking, uncertain bog of mingled im- 
pulses, emotions, fancies, and delusions might not 
those who blamed him be found themselves to 
stand? 

I am confident that he spoke without premedita- 
tion, with no desire to win a proselyte, merely as 
man to man, in unaffected intimacy. I think that 
176 


PLEASURE TAKES LEAVE TO PROTEST 

he was rather sorry for me, having detected a 
gloominess in my view of life and a tendency to 
moody and fretful introspection. Once or twice 
he referred, in passing jest, to the difference of 
national characteristics, the German tendency to 
make love by crying (so he put it) as contrasted 
with the laughing philosophy of his own country. 
At the end he apologised for talking so much, and 
pointed out to me a photograph of Coralie that 
stood on the mantelpiece more than half-hidden by 
letters and papers, saying, “ I suppose she set me 
off ; somehow she seems to me a sort of embodi- 
ment of the thing.” 

It was three o’clock when I left him ; even then 
I went reluctantly, traversing again in my mind the 
field that his tongue had easily and lightly covered, 
and reverting to the girl who, as he said, was a sort 
of embodiment of the thing. The phrase was defi- 
nite enough for its purpose, and struck home with 
an undeniable truth. He and she were the sort of 
people to live in that sort of world, and to stand as 
its representatives. A feeling came over me that 
it was a fair, fine world, where life need not be a 
struggle, where a man need not live alone, where 
he would not be striving always after what he 
could never achieve, waging always a war in which 
he should never conquer, staking all his joys against 
most uncertain shadowy prizes, which to win would 
bring no satisfaction. I cried out suddenly, as I 
walked by myself through the night, “ There’s no 
pleasure in my life.” That protest summed up my 
wrongs. There was no pleasure in my life. There 
was everything else, but not that, not pure, un- 
mixed, simple pleasure. Had I no right to some ? 
I was very tired of trying to fill my place, of sub- 
177 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


ordinating myself to my position, of being always 
Augustin the King. I was weary of my own ideal. 
I felt that I ought to be allowed to escape from it 
sometimes, to be, as it were, incognito in soul as 
well as in body, so that what I thought and did 
should not be reckoned as the work of the King’s 
mind or the act of the King’s hand. I envied 
intensely the lot and the temper of my friend 
Varvilliers. When I reached the palace and en- 
tered it, it seemed to me as though I were return- 
ing to a prison. Its walls shut me off from that 
free existence whose sweetness I had tasted, and 
forbade me to roam in the fields whither youth 
beckoned and curiosity lured me. That joy could 
never be mine. My burden was ever with me; 
the woman I had loved was gone ; the girl I must 
be made husband to was soon to come. I was not 
and could not be as other young men. 

That all this, the conversation with Varvilliers, 
its effect on me, my restless discontent and angry 
protests against my fate, should follow on meeting 
Coralie Mansoni at supper will not seem strange to 
anybody who remembers her. 


178 


CHAPTER XV 


THE HAIR-DRESSER WAITS 

When my years and my mood are considered, it 
may appear that I had enough to do in keeping my 
own life in the channel of wisdom and discretion. 
So it seemed to myself, and I was rather amused 
at being called upon to exert a good influence or 
even a wholesome authority over William Adol- 
phus ; it was so short a time since he had been 
summoned to perform a like office toward me. Y et 
after breakfast the next day Victoria came to me, 
dressed in a subdued style and speaking in low 
tones ; she has always possessed a dramatic instinct. 
She had been, it seemed, unable to remain uncon- 
scious of the gossip afoot ; of her own feelings she 
preferred to say nothing (she repeated this observa- 
tion several times); what she thought about was 
the credit of the family ; and of the family, she took 
leave to remind me, I was (I think she said, by God’s 
will) the head. I could not resist remarking how 
times had changed ; less than a year ago she had 
sent William Adolphus, sober, staid, panoplied in 
the armour of contented marriage, to wrestle with 
my errant desires. Victoria flushed and became 
just a little less meek. 

64 What’s the good of going back to that ? ” she 
asked. 

“None; it is merely amusing,” said I. 

The flush deepened. 

“Will vou allow me to be insulted ? ” she cried. 

179 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ Let us be cool. You’ve yourself to thank for 
this, Victoria. Why aren’t you pleasanter to him ? ” 

“ Oh, he’s — I’m all I ought to be to him.” 

“ I don’t know what you are to him, you’re very 
little with him.” 

I suppose that these altercations assume much 
the same character in all families. They are neces- 
sarily vulgar, and the details of them need not be 
recalled. For myself I must confess that my sister 
found me in a perverse mood ; she, on her side, was 
in the unreasonable temper of a woman who expects 
fidelity but does not show appreciation. I suggested 
this point for her consideration. 

“ Well, if I don’t appreciate him, whose fault was 
it I married him ? ” she cried. 

“ I don’t know. Whose fault is it that I’m going 
to marry Elsa Bartenstein ? Whose fault is any- 
thing ? Whose fault is it that Coralie Mansoni is a 
pretty woman ? ” 

“ I’ve never seen her.” 

“ Ah, you wouldn’t think her pretty if you had.” 

Victoria looked at me for a few seconds ; then 
she suddenly drew up a low chair and sat down at 
my feet. She turned her face up toward mine and 
took my hand. Well, we never really disliked one 
another, Victoria and I. 

6 ‘ Mother’s so horrid about it,” she said. 

It was an appeal to an old, time-honoured al- 
liance, sanctified by common sorrows, endeared by 
stolen victories shared in fearful secrecy. 

“ She says it’s my fault, just as you do. But you 
know her way.” 

I became conscious that what I had said would 
be, in fact, singularly hard to bear when it fell from 
Princess Heinrich’s judicial lips. 

180 


THE HAIR DRESSER WAITS 


“She told me that I had lost him, and that I had 
only myself to thank for it ; and — she said it was 
perhaps partly because my complexion had lost 
its freshness.” Victoria paused, and then ended, 
44 That’s a lie, you know.” 

I seemed to be young again ; we were again lay- 
ing our heads together, with intent to struggle 
against our mother. I cared not a groat for Will- 
iam Adolphus, but it would be pleasant to me to 
help my sister to bring him back to his bearings; 
and the more pleasant in view of Princess Hein- 
rich’s belief that the things could not be done. 

44 As far as being pleasant to him goes,” Victoria 
resumed, 44 1 don’t believe that the creature’s pleas- 
ant to him either. At least he came home in a 
horribly bad temper last night.” 

44 And what did you say to him ? ” 

44 Oh, I — I told him what I thought.” 

44 How we all waste opportunities !” I reflected. 
44 You ought to have soothed him down. He was 
annoyed last night.” 

Of course she asked how I knew it, and in the 
fresh-born candour of revived alliance I told her the 
story of our evening. I have observed before on the 
curious fact that women who think nothing of their 
husbands are nevertheless annoyed when other peo- 
ple agree in their estimate. Victoria was very indig- 
nant with Coralie for slighting William Adolphus 
and showing a ready disposition to transfer her at- 
tentions to me. 

44 It’s only because you’re king,” she said. But 
she did not allow her vexation to obscure her per- 
ception. Her frown gave place to a smile as she 
looked up, saying : 44 It would be rather fun if you 
flirted with her.” 


181 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


I raised my eyebrows. Whence came this new 
complaisance toward my flirtations ? 

“ Just enough, I mean, to disgust William Adol- 
phus,” she added. “ Then, as soon as he’d given 
up, you could stop, you know. Everything would 
be right then.” 

“ Except mother, you mean.” 

“ Why, yes, except mother. And she’d be splen- 
didly wrong,” laughed Victoria. 

Nobody who studies himself honestly or observes 
his neighbours with attention will deny value to an 
excuse because it may be merely plausible. After all, 
to wear even a transparent garment is not quite the 
same thing as to go naked. I do not maintain that 
Victoria’s suggestion contributed decisively to the 
prosecution of my acquaintance with Coralie Man- 
soni, but it filled a gap in the array of reasons and 
impulses which were leading me on, and gave to the 
matter an air of sport and adventure most potent in 
attraction for such a mood as mine. I was in rebel- 
lion against the limits of my position and the re- 
pression of my manner of life. To play a prank like 
this suited my humour exactly. When Victoria left 
me, I sent word of my intention to be present at 
Coralie’s theatre that evening, and invited William 
Adolphus to join me in my box. I received the an- 
swer that he would come. 

When we arrived at the theatre Coralie was al- 
ready on the stage. She was singing a song ; she 
had a very fine voice ; her delivery and air, empty 
of real feeling, were full nevertheless of a sensuous 
attraction. My brother-in-law laid his elbows on the 
front of the box and stared down at her ; I sat a little 
back, and, after watching the scene for a few mo- 
ments, began to look at the house. Immediately 
182 


THE HAIR DRESSER WAITS 


opposite me I saw Varvilliers with a party of ladies 
and men ; he bowed and smiled as I caught his eye. 
In another box I saw Wetter, gazing at the singer 
as intently as William Adolphus himself. There 
must certainly be something in a girl who exercised 
power over two men so different. And W etter was 
a person of importance and prominence, accepted as 
a political leader, and consequently a fine target for 
gossip ; his feelings must be strongly engaged be- 
fore he exposed himself to comment. I fell to study- 
ing his face ; he was pale ; when I took my glass 
I could see the nervous frown on his brow and the 
restless gleam of his eyes. By my side William 
Adolphus was chuckling with bovine satisfaction at 
an allusion in Coralie’s song ; his last night’s pique 
seemed forgotten. I leaned forward and looked 
again at Coralie. She saw me and sang the next 
verse straight at me. (She did the same thing once 
more in later days.) I saw people’s heads turn tow- 
ard my box, and drew back behind the shelter of 
the hangings. 

At the end of the act my brother-in-law turned to 
me, blew his nose, and ejaculated, “ Superb !” I nod- 
ded my head. “ Splendid ! ” said he. I nodded again. 
He launched on a catalogue of Coralie’s attractions, 
but seemed to check himself rather suddenly. 

“ I don’t suppose she’s your sort, though,” he re- 
marked. 

“ Why not ? ” I asked with a smile. 

“ Oh, I don’t know. You like clever women 
who can talk and so on. She’d bore you to death 
in an hour, Augustin.” 

“ Would she ? ” said I innocently. I was amused 
at William Adolphus’ simple cunning. “ I daresay 
I should bore her too.” 


183 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


“ Perhaps you would,” he chuckled. “ Only she 
wouldn’t tell you so, of course.” 

“But Wetter doesn’t seem to bore her,” I ob- 
served. 

“ Good God, doesn’t he ? ” cried my brother-in- 
law. 

There were limits to the amusement to be got 
out of him. I yawned and looked across the house 
again. Wetter ’s place was empty. I drew William 
Adolphus’ attention to the fact. 

“ I wonder if the fellow’s gone behind ? ” he said 
uneasily. 

“ We’ll go after the next act.” 

“ You’ll go ? ” 

“ Of course I shall send and ask permission.” 

William Adolphus looked puzzled and gloomy. 

“ I didn’t know you cared for that sort of thing ; 
I mean the theatre and all that.” 

“ We haven’t a Coralie Mansoni here every day,” 
I reminded him. “ I don’t care for the ordinary 
run, but she’s something remarkable, isn’t she ? ” 

He muttered a few words and turned away. A 
moment later Varvilliers knocked at the door of my 
box and entered. Here was a good messenger for 
me. I sent him to ask whether Coralie would re- 
ceive me after the next act. He went off on his 
errand laughing. 

I need not record the various stages and the grad- 
ual progress of my acquaintance with Coralie Man- 
soni. It would be for the most part a narrative of 
foolish actions and a repetition of trivial conversa- 
tions. I have shown how I came to enter on it, led 
by a spirit of rebellion and the love of a joke, weary 
of the repression that was partly inevitable, partly 
self-imposed, glad to find an outlet for my youthful 
184 


THE HAIR DRESSER WAITS 


impulses in a direction where my action would in- 
volve no political danger. On one good result I can 
pride myself ; I was undoubtedly the instrument of 
sending my brother-in-law back to his wife a hum- 
bled and repentant man. Coralie had no scruple 
about allowing him to perceive that her attentions 
had been paid to his rank, not to himself ; and his 
rank was now eclipsed. A few days of sulking was 
followed by a violent outburst ; but my position was 
too strong. He could not quarrel seriously with his 
wife’s brother on such a ground. He returned to 
Victoria, and, I had no doubt, received the castiga- 
tion which he certainly deserved. My interest in 
him vanished as he vanished from the society that 
centred round Mile. Mansoni. At the same time 
my share in his defeat and humiliation left a sore- 
ness between us which lasted for a long while. 

I myself had by this time fallen into a severe con- 
flict of feeling. My temperament was not like Var- 
villiers’. For an hour or two, when I was exhilarated 
with society and cheered by wine, I could seem to 
myself such as he naturally and permanently was. 
But I was not a native of the clime. I raised my- 
self to those heights of unmoral serenity by an effort 
and an artifice. He forgot himself easily. I was 
always examining myself. That same motive, or 
instinct, or tradition of feeling (I do not know how 
best to describe it) on whose altar I had sacrificed 
my first passion was still strong in me. I did not 
fear that Coralie would or could exercise a political 
influence over me, but I was loth that she should 
possess a control of any sort. I clung obstinately 
to the conception of myself as standing alone, as 
being independent and under the power of nobody 
in any respect. This was to me a stronger check 
185 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


than the restraint of accepted morality. Looking 
back on the matter, and judging myself as I should 
judge any young man, I am confident that my pas- 
sion would easily have swept away the ordinary 
scruples. It was my other conscience, my King’s 
conscience, that raised the barrier and protracted 
the resistance. Here is another case of that re- 
action of my position on myself which has been 
such a feature of my life. Varvilliers’ unreasoned 
philosophy did not cover this point. Here I had 
to fight out the question for myself. It was again 
a struggle between the man and the king, between 
a natural impulse and the strength of an intellectual 
conception. I perceived with mingled amusement 
and bitterness how entirely Varvilliers failed to ap- 
preciate the condition of my mind or to conceal his 
surprise at my alternate hot and cold fits, urgency 
followed by a drawing-back, eagerness to be mov- 
ing at moments when nothing could be done, suc- 
ceeded by refusals to stir when the road was clear. 
I believe that he came to have a very poor opinion 
of me as a man of the world ; but his kindness 
toward me never varied. 

But there was one to whom my mind was an open 
book, who read easly and plainly every thought of 
it, because it was written in the same characters as 
was his own. The politician who risked his future, 
the debtor who every day incurred new expenses, 
the devotee of principles who sacrificed them for 
his passion, the deviser of schemes who ruined them 
at the demand of his desires, here was the man who 
could understand the heart of his King. Wetter 
was my sympathiser, and Wetter was my rival. 
The relations between us in those days were strange. 
We did not quarrel, we felt a friendliness for one 
186 


THE HAIR DRESSER WAITS 

another. Each knew the price the other paid or 
must pay as well as he knew his own price. But 
we were rivals. Varvilliers was wrong when he said 
that Coralie cared nothing about Wetter. She 
cared, although it was in a peculiar fashion that she 
cared. Truly he could give her little, but he was 
to her a sign and a testimony of her power, even as 
I myself in another way. Mine was the high rank, 
the great position. In conquering me lay the open 
and notorious triumph, but she was not insensible 
to the more private joy and secret exultation that 
came to her from dominating a ruling mind, and 
filling with her own image a head capacious enough 
to hold imperial policies and shape the destinies of 
kingdoms. Wetter and I, each in our way, broke 
through the crust of seemingly consistent frivolity 
that was on her, and down to a deep-seated ten- 
dency toward romance and the love of power. She 
could not rule directly, but she could rule rulers. 
I am certain that some such idea was in her head, 
alloying, or at least refining, a grosser self-interest. 
Therefore Wetter, no less than I, was of value to 
her. She would not willingly have let him go, even 
although he could give her nothing and she did not 
care for him in the only sense of which my friend 
the Vicomte took account. I came to realise how 
it was between her and him before very long, and 
to see how the same ultimate instinct of her nature 
made her long to gather both him and me into her 
net. Thus she would have bowing before her the 
highest and the strongest heads in Forstadt. That 
she so analysed and reasoned out her wishes it 
would be absurd to suppose, but we — he and I — 
performed the task for her. Each knew that the 
other was at work on it ; each chafed that she 
187 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


would consent to be but half his ; each desired to 
rule alone, not to be one of two that were ruled. 
All this had been dimly foreshadowed to me when 
I sat in the theatre, looking now at Coralie as she 
sang her song, now at Wetter’s frowning brows and 
tight-set lips. I must add that my position was 
rendered peculiarly difficult by the fact that Wet- 
ter not only owed me deference, but was still in my 
debt for the money I had lent him. He had re- 
fused to consider it a gift, but was, and became 
every day more, incapable of repaying it. 

We were at luncheon at her villa one day, we 
three, and with us, of course, Madame Briande, an 
exceedingly well-informed and tactful little woman. 
Coralie had been very silent and (as usual) attentive 
to her meal. The rest had chattered on many sub- 
jects. Suddenly she spoke. 

“ It has been very amusing,” she said, with a little 
yawn that ended in a rather weary smile. “ For my 
part I can conceive only one thing that could in- 
crease the entertainment. ” 

“ What’s that, Coralie ? ” asked Madame Briande. 
Coralie waved her right hand toward me and her 
left toward Wetter. 

“ Why, that we should have for audience and as 
spectators of our little feast your subjects, sire, and, 
monsieur, your followers. ” 

Clearly Coralie had been maturing this rather 
startling speech for some time ; she launched it with 
an evident enjoyment of its malice. A moment of 
astonished silence followed ; madame’s tact was 
strained beyond its uttermost resources ; she smiled 
nervously and said nothing ; W etter turned red. I 
looked full in Coralie’s eyes, drained my glass of 
cognac, and laughed. 


188 


THE HAIR DRESSER WAITS 

“ But why should that be amusing ? ” I asked. 
“ And, at least, shall we not add to our imaginary 
audience the crowd of your admirers ? ” 

“ As you will,” said she with a shrug. “ Whom- 
ever we add they would see nothing but two gen- 
tlemen getting under the table, oh, so quickly ! ” 

Madame Briande became visibly distressed. 

“ Is it not so ? ” drawled Coralie in lazy enjoy- 
ment of her excursion. 

“ Why,” said I, “ I should most certainly invoke 
the shelter of your tablecloth, mademoiselle. A 
king must avoid being misunderstood.” 

“ I thought so,” said she with a long look at me. 
“And you, monsieur?” she added, turning to 
W etter. 

“ I should not get under the table,” said he. He 
strove to render his tone light, but his voice quiv- 
ered with suppressed passion. 

“You wouldn’t?” she asked. “You’d sit here 
before them all ? ” 

“ Yes,” said he. 

Madame Briande rose. Her evident intention 
was to break up the party. Coralie took no notice ; 
we men sat on, opposite one another, with her be- 
tween us on the third side of the small square 
table. 

“ Must not a politician avoid — being misunder- 
stood ? ” she asked Wetter. 

“ Unless there is something else that he values 
more,” was the reply. 

She turned to me, smiling still. 

“ Would not that be so with a king also ? ” 

“ Certainly, if there could be such a thing.” 

“ But you think there could not ? ” 

“ I can’t call such a thing to mind, mademoiselle.” 

13 189 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“Ah, you can’t call it to mind! No, you can’t 
call it to mind. It seems to me that there is a dif- 
ference, then, between politicians and kings.” 

Madame Briande was moving about the room in 
evident discomfort. Wetter was sitting with his 
hand clenched on the table and his eyes down- 
cast. 

Coralie looked long and intently at him. Then 
she turned her eyes on me. I took out a cigarette, 
lit it, and smiled at her. 

“You — you would get under the table?” she 
asked me. 

“You catch my meaning perfectly.” 

“ Then aren’t you ashamed to sit at it ? ” 

“Yes,” said I, and laughed. 

“ Ah ! ” she cried, shaking her fist at me, and her- 
self laughing. Then she leaned over toward me and 
whispered, “You shall retract that.” 

Wetter looked up and saw her whispering to me, 
and laughing as she whispered. He frowned, and I 
saw his hand tremble on the table. Though I 
laughed and fenced with her and defied her, I was 
myself in some excitement. I seemed to be play- 
ing a match ; and I had confidence in my game. 

Wetter spoke abruptly in a harsh but carefully 
restrained voice. 

“ It is not for me to question the King’s account 
of himself,” he said, “ but so far as I am concerned 
your question did me a wrong. Openly I come here, 
openly I leave here. All know why I come, and 
what I desire in coming. I ask nothing better than 
to declare it before all the city.” 

She rose and made him a courtesy, then she gave 
a slight yawn and observed : 

“So now we know iust where we are.” 

190 


THE HAIR DRESSER WAITS 


“ The King has defined his position with great 
accuracy,” said Wetter with an open sneer. 

“ Yes ? What is it ? ” she asked. 

44 His own words are enough ; mine could add no 
clearness — and ” 

44 Might give offence ? ” she asked. 

“ It is possible,” said he. 

46 Then we come to this : which is better, a king 
under the table or a politician at it ? ” She burst 
out laughing. 

Madame Briande had fled to a remote corner. 
W etter was in the throes of excitement. A strange 
coolness and recklessness now possessed me. I 
was insensible of everything at this moment except 
the impulse of rivalry and the desire for victory. 
Nothing in the scene had power to repel me, my 
eyes were blind to everything of ugly aspect in it. 

“To define the question, mademoiselle, should 
be but a preliminary to answering it,” said I, with a 
bow. 

44 1 would answer it this minute, sire, but ” 

44 You hesitate, perhaps ? ” 

44 Oh, no ; but my hair-dresser is waiting for me.” 

44 Let no such trifle detain you then,” I cried. 
44 For I, even I the coward, had sooner ” 

44 Be misunderstood ? ” 

44 Why, precisely. I had sooner be misunder- 
stood than that your hair should not be perfectly 
dressed at the theatre.” 

Wetter rose to his feet. He said 44 Good-bye” 
to Coralie, not a word more. To me he bowed 
very low and very formally. I returned his sal- 
utation with a cool nod. As he turned to the door 
Coralie cried : 

44 1 shall see you at supper, mon cher ? ” 

191 


THE KING S MIRROR 


He turned his head and looked at her. 

“ I don’t know,” he said. 

“Very well. I like uncertainty. We will hope.” 

He went out. I stood facing her for a moment. 

“Well?” said she, looking in my eyes, and 
seeming to challenge an expression of opinion. 

“ You are pleased with yourself? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ You have done some mischief.” 

“ How much ? ” 

“ I don’t know. But you love uncertainty.” 

“ True, true. And you seem to think that I 
love candour.” 

“ Don’t you ? ” 

“ I think that I love everything and everybody 
in the world except you.” 

I laughed again. I knew that I had triumphed. 

“ Behold your decision,” I cried, “ and the hair- 
dresser still waits ! ” 

She did not answer me. She stood there smil- 
ing. I took her hand and kissed it with much and 
even affected gallantry. Then I went and paid a 
like attention to Madame Briande. As the little 
woman made her courtesy she turned alarmed and 
troubled eyes up to me. 

“ Oh, mon Dieu / ” she murmured. 

“ Till to-night,” smiled Coralie. 


192 


CHAPTER XYI 


A CHASE OF TWO PHANTOMS 

I was reading the other day the memoirs of an em- 
inent English man of letters, now dead. He had 
paid a long visit to Forstadt, and had much to say 
(sometimes, I think, in a vein of veiled irony) about 
Victoria, her literary tastes and her literary circle. 
Finding amusement enough to induce me to turn 
over a few more pages, I came on the following 
passage : 

“ With the King himself I conversed once only ; 
but I saw him often and heard much about him. 
He was then twenty-four — a tall and very thin 
young man, with dark brown hair and a small mus- 
tache of a lighter tint. His nose was aquiline, his 
eyes rather deep set, his face long and inclining to 
the hatchet- shape. He had beautiful hands, of 
which he was said to be proud. He stooped a little 
when walking, but displayed considerable dignity 
of carriage. He was accused of haughtiness, ex- 
cept toward a few intimates. Unquestionably his 
late adviser, Hammerfeldt, had imbued him with 
some notions as to his position which it is hardly 
unjust to call mediaeval. A wit, or would-be wit, 
said of him that he postulated God in order to 
legitimise the powers of Augustin, his deputy. 
Certain persons very closely acquainted with him 
(I withhold names) gave a curious account of his 
character. Usually he was reserved and even se- 
cretive, cautious, cold, and free from enthusiasm 
193 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


and follies alike. But at times he appeared to be 
taken with moods of strong feeling. Then he 
would speak freely to the first person who might 
be by, was eager for merriment and dissipation, 
not fastidious as to how he came by what he 
wanted, seeming forgetful of the sterner rule by 
which his daily life was governed. A reaction 
would generally follow, and the King would appear 
to take a revenge on himself by acid and savagely 
humorous comments on his own acts and on the 
companions of his hours of relaxation. So far as I 
studied him for myself, I was led to conclude that 
he possessed a very impressionable and passionate 
temperament, but contrived, in general, to keep it 
in repression. There were one or two scandals re- 
lated about him ; but when we consider his position 
and temptations, we must give credit either to his 
virtues or to his discretion that such stories were 
not more numerous. I liked him and thought 
well of him, but I do think that he enjoyed a dis- 
position likely to result in a happy life for him- 
self. He was said to have great attractions for 
women; but I am not aware that he admitted 
persons of either sex to his confidence or friend- 
ship. He was, I imagine, jealous of even appear- 
ing to be under any influence.” 

This impression of me was written just about 
the time of my acquaintance with Coralie Mansoni 
and of the events which led to a sudden break in 
it. The judgment of me seems very fair and 
marked by considerable acumen. I have quoted it 
because it may serve in some degree to explain my 
conduct at the time. It also appears to have an 
interest of its own as an independent appreciation 
formed by a fair-minded and competent observer. 

194 


A CHASE OF TWO PHANTOMS 

I wish that the same hand had painted an adequate 
portrait of Wetter, for his character better deserved 
study than my own; but with the curious predju- 
dice against politicians that so often affects the 
minds of students and men of letters (those hermits 
of brain-cells) the writer dismisses Wetter, briefly 
and almost contemptuously, as an able but un- 
scrupulous politician, addicted to extravagances 
and irregularity in private life. He gives more 
space to William Adolphus than to Wetter! So 
difficult it is even for superior minds to remain al- 
together unaffected by the lustre of rank ; the old 
truism could not be better exhibited. 

I kept my appointment and went again to 
Coralie’s in the evening. I took with me Vohren- 
lorf, my aide-de-camp (brother to the General, my 
former governor) ; there had been a dinner at the 
palace, and we were both in uniform. I had 
hardly expected Wetter to come that evening, 
but he was already there when I arrived. He 
seemed in an excited state; I found afterward that 
he was fresh from the delivery of a singularly 
brilliant and violent speech in the Chamber. I 
saluted him with intentional and marked polite- 
ness. He made no more response than purest 
formality demanded. I was aggrieved at this, for 
I desired to be friendly with him in spite of our 
rather absurd rivalry. Turning away from him, I 
sat down by Coralie and asked her if supper were 
ready. 

4 ‘We’re waiting for Varvilliers,” she answered. 

“ But where is Madame Briande? ” 

“ She went upstairs. I wanted a word with 
Wetter. She’ll be down directly.” 

“A word with Wetter? ” 

195 


THE KING S MIRROR 


“ Why not, sire? ” she asked with aggressive in- 
nocence. 

“There can be no reason why not, mademoi- 
selle,” I replied, smiling. 

We were interrupted by Varvilliers’ arrival. 
He also had dined at the palace, and was in full 
dress. 

“ How gay my little house is to-night,” drawled 
Coralie, as she rang the bell and ordered, in exactly 
the same manner, the descent of Madame Briande 
and the ascent of supper. Both orders were 
promptly obeyed, and we were left alone. Serv- 
ants were never allowed to remain in waiting on 
these occasions. 

Varvilliers was in fine vein that night, and Wet- 
ter seconded him. The one glittered with sharp- 
cut gems of speech, the other struck chords of 
deep and touching music. I played a more mod- 
est part, madame and Vohrenlorf were audience, 
Coralie seemed the judge whose hand was to 
award the prize. Yet she was indolent, and ap- 
peared to listen to no more than half of what was 
said. We finished eating and began to smoke; 
the wine still went round. Suddenly a pause fell 
on us. A mot from Varvilliers had set finis to our 
subject, and another delayed presenting itself. To 
my surprise Wetter turned to me. 

“ In the Chamber to-night, sire,” he said, “there 
was a question about your marriage.” 

I perceived at once the malice which inspired 
his remark, but I answered him gaily, and in a 
tone that was in harmony with the scene. 

“ I wish to heaven,” said I, “ there were a ques- 
tion about it anywhere else. Alas, it is a cer- 
tainty.” 


196 


A CHASE OF TWO PHANTOMS 


“ Why, so is death, sire,” cried Varvilliers, “ but 
we do not discuss it at supper.” 

“ Does M. de Varvilliers quarrel with my choice 
of a subj ect ? ” asked W etter. He spoke calmly now, 
but it was not hard to discern his great excitement. 

“ I quarrel, sir, with nobody except quarrellers,” 
answered the Frenchman impatiently. 

“ Well, then — ” began Wetter. 

“ I think you forget my presence,” I said coldly, 
“ and this lady’s also.” I waved my hand toward 
Coralie. She lay back in her chair, smiling and 
holding an unlighted cigarette between her fingers. 

“ I forget, sire, neither your presence nor your 
due,” said Wetter. With that he took a pocket- 
book from his pocket and flung it on the table be- 
fore me. “ There is my debt,” he said. 

I sat back in my chair and did not move. 

“You choose a strange time for business,” I ob- 
served. “Vohrenlorf, see what is in this pocket- 
book.” 

Vohrenlorf examined it, then he came and whis- 
pered in my ear, “ Notes for 90,000 marks.” It 
was the amount Wetter owed me with accrued in- 
terest. I was amazed. He could not have raised 
the money except at a most extravagant rate. I 
made no remark, but I knew that he had risked 
ruin by this repayment, and I knew well why he 
had made it. He would not have me for creditor 
as well as for king and rival. 

Varvilliers burst out laughing. 

“ Upon my word,” said he, “these gentlemen of 
the Chamber can think of nothing but money. 
Don’t you wonder at them, mademoiselle ? ” 

“Money is good to think of,” said Coralie re- 
flectively. 


197 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ An admirable candour, isn’t it, sire ? ” he said, 
turning to me and pointing to Coralie. 

I was disturbed and out of humour. Again I 
was in conflict. I thought of what she was, and 
wondered that such men, and men so placed, as 
Wetter and I should quarrel about her; I looked 
in her face and felt a momentary conviction that 
all the world might fall to fighting on her account ; 
at least things more absurd have surely happened. 
But I answered smoothly and composedly. (That 
trick at least I had learned.) 

“ Sincerity is our hostess’s greatest charm,” 
said I. 

Wetter laughed loudly and sneeringly. Coralie 
turned a gaze of indifferent curiosity on him. He 
puzzled her, tiresomely sometimes. I knew that 
he meant an insult. My blood runs hot at such 
moments. I was about to speak when Varvilliers 
forestalled me. He leaned across the table and 
said in a very low voice to W etter : 

“ Sir, his Majesty is the only gentleman in For- 
stadt who can not resent an insult.” 

I recollect well little Madame Briande’s pale 
face, as she half rose from her seat with clasped 
hands. Coralie still smiled. Vohrenlorf was red 
and fierce, with his hand on the hilt of his sword. 
Varvilliers was calm, cool, polished in demeanour. 

For a moment or two Wetter sat silent, his 
eyes intently fixed on the Vicomte’s face. Then 
he said in a tone as low as Varvilliers’ had been : 

“ I think his Majesty remembers his disabilities 
too late — or has them remembered for him.” 

Vohrenlorf rose to his feet, carried away by 
anger and excitement. 

“ Sir ” he cried loudly. 

198 


A CHASE OF TWO PHANTOMS 


“ Vohrenlorf, be quiet. Sit down,” said I. 44 M. 
Wetter is right.” 

None spoke. Even Coralie seemed affected to 
gravity ; or was it that we had touched the spring 
of her dramatic instinct ? After a few minutes I 
turned to Madame Briande and introduced some 
indifferent topic. I spoke alone and found no 
answer. Coralie was now regarding me with ob- 
vious curiosity. 

44 The air of this room is hot,” said I. 44 Shouldn’t 
we be better in the other ? If the ladies will lead 
the way, we’ll follow immediately.” 

44 I’m very well here,” said Coralie. 

44 Oblige me,” said I, rising and myself opening 
the door that led to the inner room. 

After a moment’s hesitation Coralie passed out, 
and madame followed her. I closed the door be- 
hind them and, turning, faced the three men. 
W etter stood alone by the mantelpiece ; the others 
were still near the table. 

44 In everything but the moment of his remark 
M. Wetter was right,” said I. 44 1 didn’t remem- 
ber in time that I am not placed as other men ; I 
will not remember it now. Varvilliers, you mustn’t 
be concerned in this. Vohrenlorf, I put myself in 
your hands.” 

44 Good God, you won’t fight? ” cried Varvilliers. 

44 Vohrenlorf will do for me what he would for 
any gentleman who put himself in his hands,” 
said I. 

The position was too hard for young Vohrenlorf. 
He sank into a chair and covered his face with his 
hands. 44 No, no, I can’t,” he muttered. Wetter 
stood still as a rock, looking not at any of us, but 
down toward the floor. Varvilliers drank a glass of 
199 


THE KINGS MIRROR 

wine and then wiped his mustache carefully with a 
napkin. 

“Your Majesty,” said he, “will not do me the 
injustice to suppose that I am not in everything 
and most readily at your command. But I would 
beg the honour of representing your Majesty in this 
affair.” 

“ Impossible ! ” said I briefly. 

“Consider, sire. To fight you is ruin to M. 
Wetter.” 

“As regards that, would not M. Wetter in his 
turn reflect too late ? ” I asked stiffly. 

Vohrenlorf looked up with a hopeless, dazed ex- 
pression. Varvilliers was at a loss. Wetter’s fig- 
ure and face were still unmoved. A sudden idea 
came into my head. 

“There is no need for M. Wetter to be ruined,” 
said I. “ Whatever the result may be it shall seem 
an accident.” 

Wetter looked up with a quick jerk of his head. 
I glanced at the clock. 

“ In four hours it will be light,” I said. “ Let us 
meet at six in the Garden Pavilion at the Palace. 
Varvilliers, since you desire to assist us, I have no 
doubt M. Wetter will accept your services. It will 
be well to have no more present than necessary. 
The Pavilion, gentlemen, I need hardly remind 
you, is fitted up for revolver practice. Well, there 
are targets at each end. It will be unfortunate, 
but not strange, if one of us steps carelessly into 
the line of fire.” 

They understood my idea. But Varvilliers had 
an objection. 

“ What if both of you ? ” he asked, lifting his 
brows. 


200 


A CHASE OF TWO PHANTOMS 


“That’s so unlikely,” said I. “Come, shall it 
be so ? ” 

Wetter looked me full in the face, and bowed 
low. 

“ I am at his Majesty’s orders,” said he. He 
spoke now quite calmly. 

Varvilliers and Vohrenlorf seemed to regard him 
with a sort of wonder. At the risk of ridicule I 
must confess to something of the same feeling. A 
bullet is no respecter of persons, and has no sym- 
pathy with ideas which (as the Englishman ob- 
serves) it is hardly unjust to call mediaeval. Yes, 
even I myself was a little surprised that Wetter 
should meet me in a duel. But, while I was sur- 
prised, I was glad. 

“ I am greatly indebted to M. Wetter,” I said, 
returning his bow, “ in that he does not insist on 
my disabilities.” 

For the briefest moment he smiled at me; I 
think my speech touched his humour. Then he 
grew grave again, and thanked Varvilliers formally 
for the offer of his services. 

“There remains but one thing,” said I. “We 
must assure the ladies that any difference of opin- 
ion there was between us is entirely past. Let us 
join them.” 

Vohrenlorf opened the door of the inner room 
and I entered, the rest following. Madame Bri- 
ande sat in a straight-backed chair at the table; 
she had a book before her, but her restless, anxious 
air made me doubt whether she had read much of 
it. I looked round for Coralie. There on the sofa 
she lay, her head resting luxuriously on the cushions 
and her bosom rising and falling in gentle, regular 
breathing. The affair had not been interesting 
201 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


enough to keep Coralie awake. But now Vohren- 
lorf shut the door rather noisily ; she opened her 
eyes, stretched her arms and yawned. 

44 Ah ! You’ve done quarrelling ? ” she asked. 

44 Absolutely. We’re all friends again, and have 
come to say farewell.” 

44 Well, I’m very sleepy,” said she, with much 
resignation. 44 Go and sleep well, my friends.” 

44 We’re forgiven for our bad manners?” 

44 Oh, but you were very amusing. You’re all 
going home now ? ” 

44 So we propose, mademoiselle.” 

Her eyes chanced to fall on W etter. She pointed 
her finger at him and began to laugh. 

44 What makes you as pale as a ghost, my friend? ” 
she asked. 

44 It’s late; I’m tired,” he answered lamely and 
awkwardly. 

She turned a shrewd glance on me. I smiled 
composedly. 

44 Ah, well, it’s no affair of mine,” she said. 

In turn we took farewell of her and of madame. 
But, as I was going out, she called me. 

44 In a minute, Vohrenlorf,” I cried, waving my 
hand toward the door. The rest passed out. Ma- 
dame had wandered restlessly to the fireplace at the 
other end of the room. I returned to Coralie’s sofa. 

44 You’re going too ? ” she asked. 

44 Certainly,” said I. 44 1 must rest. I have to 
rise early, and it’s close on two o’clock.” 

44 You don’t look sleepy.” 

44 1 depart from duty, not from inclination.” 

44 You’ll come to see me to-morrow? ” 

44 If I possibly can. Could you doubt it ? ” 

44 And why might you possibly not be able? ” 

m 


A CHASE OF TWO PHANTOMS 


“ I am a man of many occupations.” 

“ Yes. Quarrelling with Wetter is one.” 

“ Indeed that’s all over.” 

44 I’m not sure I believe you.” 

“ You reduce me to despair. How can I con- 
vince you ? ” 

Madame Briande walked suddenly to the door 
and went out. I heard her invite Vohrenlorf to 
take a glass of cognac, and his ready acceptance. 
Coralie was sitting on the sofa now, looking at me 
curiously. 

“ I have liked you very much,” she said slowly. 
44 You are a good fellow, a good friend. I don’t 
know how it is — I feel uncomfortable to-night. 
Will you draw back a curtain and open a window? 
It’s hot.” 

I obeyed her; the cool night air rushed in on 
us, fresh and delicious. She drew her legs up side- 
ways on the sofa, clasping her ankles with her 
hand. 

44 Don’t you know,” she cried impatiently, 4 4 how 
sometimes one is uncomfortable and doesn’t know 
why ? It seems as though something was going to 
happen, one’s money to be lost, or one’s friends to 
die or go away ; that somehow they had misfortunes 
preparing for one.” 

44 I know the feeling well enough, but I’m sure 
you needn’t have it to-night.” 

44 Oh, I don’t know. It doesn’t come without 
a reason. You’ve no superstitions, I suppose? I 
have many ; as a child I learned them all. They’re 
never wrong. Yes, something is to happen.” 

I shrugged my shoulders and laughed. 

44 You’ll come to-morrow?” she asked, with in- 
creased and most unusual urgency. 

203 


THE KINGS MIRROR 

“ If possible,” I answered again. 

44 But why won’t you promise ? Why do you al- 
ways say 4 if possible ’ ? You’re tiresome with your 
4 if possible.’ ” She shrugged her shoulders petu- 
lantly. 

44 I might be ill.” 

“Yes, and you might be dead, but — ” She 
had begun petulantly and impatiently, as though 
she were angry at my excuse and meant to exhibit 
its absurdity. But now she stopped suddenly. In 
the pause the wind moaned. 

44 1 hate that sound,” she cried resentfully. 44 It 
comes from the souls of the dead as they fly through 
the air. They fly round and round the houses, 
crying to those who must join them soon.” 

44 Ah, well, these people were, doubtless, often 
wrong when they were alive. Why must they be 
always right when they’re dead ? ” 

44 No, death is near to-night. I wish you would 
stay with me — here, talking and forgetting it’s night. 
I would make you coffee and sing to you. We 
would shut the window and light all the lights, 
and pretend it w r as day.” 

44 1 can’t stay,” I said. 44 I must get back. I 
have business early.” 

It is difficult to be in contact with such a mood 
as hers was that night and not catch something 
of its infection. Reason protests, but imagination 
falls a ready prey. I had no fear, but a sombre ap- 
prehension of evil settled on me. I seemed to know 
that our season of thoughtless, reckless merriment 
was done, and I mourned for it. There came over 
me a sorrow for her, but I made no attempt to ex- 
press what she certainly would not have understood. 
To feel for others what they do not feel for them- 
204 


A CHASE OF TWO PHANTOMS 


selves is a distortion of sympathy which often af- 
flicts me. Her discomfort was purely childish, a 
sudden fear of the dark night, the dark world, the 
ways of fortune so dark and unknowable. No self- 
questioning and no sting of conscience had any part 
in it. She had been happy, and she wanted to go 
on being happy ; but now she was afraid she was 
going to be unhappy, and she shrank from unhap- 
piness as from a toothache. I took her hand and 
kissed and caressed it. 

“Go to bed, my dear,” said I. “You’ll be 
laughing at this in the morning. And poor 
Vohrenlorf is waiting all this while for me.” 

“ Go, then. You may kiss me though.” 

I bent down and kissed her. 

“Your lips are very hot,” she said. “Yet you 
look cool enough.” 

4 6 1 am even rather cold. I must walk home 
briskly. Good-night. ’ ’ 

“ You’ll make it up with poor Wetter ? ” 

44 Indeed our difference is over, or all but over.” 

44 Good. I hate my friends to quarrel seriously. 
As for a little, it’s amusing enough.” 

With that she let me go. The last I saw of her 
was as she ran hastily across the room, slammed 
down the window, and drew the curtain across it. 
She was afraid of hearing more of those voices of 
the night that frightened her. I thought with a 
smile that candles would burn about her bed till she 
woke to rejoice in the sun’s new birth. Ah, well, 
I myself do not love a blank darkness. 

Vohrenlorf and I walked home together. We 
entered by the gardens, the sentry saluting us and 
opening the gate. There was the Pavilion rising 
behind my apartments, a long, high, glass-roofed 
14 205 


THE KING S MIRROR 


building. The sight of it recalled my thought 
from Coralie to the work of the morning. I 
nodded my head toward the building and said to 
Vohrenlorf : 

46 There’s our rendezvous.” 

He did not answer, but turned to me with his 
lips quivering. 

44 What’s the matter, man,” I asked. 

46 For God’s sake, sire, don’t do it. Send him a 
message. You mustn’t do it.” 

44 My good Vohrenlorf, you are mad,” said I. 

Yet not Vohrenlorf was mad, but I, mad with 
the vision of my two phantoms — freedom and 
pleasure. 


206 


CHAPTER XVII 


DECIDEDLY MEDIAEVAL 

I was in the Garden Pavilion only the other morn- 
ing with one of my sons, teaching him how to use 
his weapons. Suddenly he pointed at a bullet-mark 
not in any of the targets, but in the wainscotting 
above and a little to the right of them. 

44 There’s a bad shot, father ! ” he cried. 

“ But you don’t know what he aimed at,” I ob- 
jected. 

44 At a target, of course ! ” 

“ But perhaps his target was differently placed. 
That shot is many years old.” 

4 4 Anyhow he missed what he shot at, or he 
wouldn’t have struck the wainscotting,” the boy 
persisted. 

44 Why, yes, he missed, but he may have missed 
only by a hair’s breadth.” 

46 Do you know who fired the shot ? ” 

44 Yes. It’s a strange story; perhaps you shall 
hear it some day.” 

This little scene recalled with vividness my mem- 
ories of the morning when W etter and I met in the 
Pavilion. I had hit on a good plan. I was known 
to practise often, and Wetter was given to the same 
pursuit. Indeed we had shot against one another 
in club matches before now, and come off very equal. 
It was not likely that suspicion would be aroused ; 
the very early hour was our vulnerable point, but 
this could not be helped. Had we come later, we 
207 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


should have been pestered by attendants and mark- 
ers. In other respects the ordinary arrangements for 
matches suited our purpose well. There was a tar- 
get at either end of the Pavilion ; each man chose 
an end to fire from. When he had discharged his 
bullet he retreated to a little shelter, of which there 
were two at each end, one for the shooter, one for 
the marker. His opponent then did the like. To 
account for what was meant to occur this morning 
we had only to make it believed that one of us, Wet- 
ter or I, as chance willed, had incautiously stepped 
out of his shelter at the wrong time. To render 
this plausible we agreed to pretend a misunderstand- 
ing ; the man hit was to have thought that his op- 
ponent would fire only one shot, the man who es- 
caped would express deepest regret, but maintain 
that the arrangement had been for two successive 
shots. I had very little doubt that these arrange- 
ments for baffling inconvenient inquiry would prove 
thoroughly adequate. For the rest, I made up a 
packet for Varvilliers containing a present for Co- 
ralie. To make any other preparations would not 
have been fair to Wetter ; for my death, if it hap- 
pened, must seem absolutely accidental. After all 
I did not feel such confidence in my value to the 
country, or in my wisdom, as to desire to leave my 
last will and testament. Victoria would do very 
well, no doubt. It was odd to think of her sleep- 
ing peacefully in the opposite wing, without an idea 
that anything touching her fortunes was being done 
in the Garden Pavilion. 

The external scene is clearer to me than the pic- 
ture of my own mind ; yet there also I can trace the 
main outlines. The heat of passion was past ; I was 
no longer in the stir of rivalry. I knew that it was 
208 


DECIDEDLY MEDIAEVAL 


through and because of Coralie that I had come 
into this position, and that Wetter had done what 
he had. But the thought of her, and the desire to 
conquer him in her favour or punish him for seek- 
ing it, were no more my foremost impulses. I can 
claim no feeling so natural, so instinctive, so par- 
donable because so natural. I was angry with him. 
I had waived my rank and set aside my state ; that 
still I was eager and glad to do ; but I waived them 
and forgot them, because only thus could I avenge 
them. By his challenge, his insult, his defiance, he 
had violated what I held sacred in me, and almost 
the only thing that I held sacred. I hear now the 
Englishman’s mocking epithet in my ears — ‘ 4 Medi- 
aeval ! ” I did not hear it then. W etter had insulted 
the King ; the King would cease to be the King to 
punish him. I had this cool anger in my heart 
when I went with Vohrenlorf to the Pavilion at six 
in the morning. But half the bitterness of it was 
due to my own inmost knowledge that my acts had 
led him on ; that, if he had committed the sacri- 
lege, my hand had flung open the doors of the 
shrine. He had defaced the image ; it was I who 
had taught him no more to reverence it. Because 
he reminded me of this, I thought that I hated him, 
as we took our way to the Pavilion. 

Men who have been through many of these affairs 
have told me that on the first occasion they felt 
some fear, or, at least, an excitement so great as to 
seem like fear. I recollect no such feeling. This 
was not because I was especially courageous or 
more indifferent to death than other men ; it did 
not occur to me that I should be killed or even hit. 
Coralie had a strong presentiment of evil for some 
one ; I had none for myself. If she were right, 
209 


THE KING’S MIRROR 

it seemed to me that Wetter’s fate must prove 
her so. 

The other pair came punctually. They had en- 
countered some slight obstacle in entering. The 
sentry had been seized with scruples, and the officer 
of the guard had been summoned. Varvilliers 
pleaded an express appointment with me, and the 
officer, surprised but conquered, had let them pass. 
All this Varvilliers told us in his usual airy manner, 
Wetter sitting apart the while. The clock struck 
a quarter past six. 

“We waste time, Vicomte,” said I, and I sat 
down in a chair, leaving him to make the arrange- 
ments with Vohrenlorf, or rather, to announce them 
to Vohrenlorf ; for my second was unmanned by the 
business, and had quite lost his composure. 

Varvilliers had just measured the distance and 
settled the places where we were to stand, when 
there was a step outside and a knock at the door. 
The seconds looked round. W etter sprang to his 
feet. 

44 Open it, Vohrenlorf. Were doing nothing se- 
cret,” I said, with a smile. 

V arvilliers nodded approvingly. 

44 But our visitor mustn’t stay long,” he observed. 

44 It’s one of my privileges to send people away,” 
said I reassuringly. 

The door opened, and in walked William Adol- 
phus ! He was in riding boots and carried a whip. 
It was his custom to rise early for a gallop in the 
park ; he must have heard our voices as he passed by. 

4 4 You’re early,” he cried in boisterous merriment. 
44 What’s afoot ? ” 

44 Why, a wager between Wetter and myself,” I 
answered. 44 A match.” 


210 


DECIDEDLY MEDIAEVAL 


“ What for ? ” 

“ Upon my word, we haven’t fixed the stakes ; 
it’s pure rivalry. ” Then I began to laugh. “ How 
odd you should come ! ” I said. Indeed it seemed 
strange, for, if the whole affair were traced back to 
the egg, William Adolphus’ flirtation was the ori- 
gin of it. His appearance had the appropriateness 
of an ironically witty comment on some hot-headed 
folly. 

“ I’ve half a mind to stay and see you shoot.” 

“ By no means ; you’d make me nervous.” 

“ I’ll bet a hundred marks on Wetter.” 

“ I take you there, ” said I. “ But I hear your 
horse being walked up and down outside.” 

“ Yes, he’s there.” 

“ It’s a chilly morning. Don’t keep him waiting. 
Vohrenlorf, see the Prince mounted.” 

Varvilliers laughed; even Wetter smiled. 

“ All right, you needn’t be in such a hurry. I’m 
going,” said William Adolphus. 

“ But I’m glad you came,” said I, laughing again, 
and, as the door closed behind him, I added, “ Most 
lucky! His evidence will be invaluable. Fortune 
is with us, Varvilliers.” 

“ A man of ready wit is with us, sire,” he an- 
swered in his pleasant courtliness ; then, as we heard 
William Adolphus trotting off and Vohrenlorf came 
back, he went on, “ All is ready.” 

W etter seemed absolutely composed. I marvelled 
at his composure. No doubt his ideas were not 
mediaeval, as mine were; yet it seemed strange to 
me that he should fire at me as he would at any 
other man. I did not then understand the despair 
w T hich underlay his iron quietness. I was set 
thinking, though, the next moment, when Var- 
211 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


villiers stepped forward holding a pair of single- 
barrelled pistols. Wetter opened his lips for the 
first time : 

“ Why not revolvers ? ” 

“ If we allow a second shot, Vohrenlorf and I will 
reload. Pardon, sire, have you any other weapon 
about you ? ” 

I answered “No,” and Wetter made the same 
reply to a like question. But I had seen a sudden 
change pass over his face when he was told that re- 
volvers were not to be used. An idea entered my 
head and would not be dislodged ; a man might fire 
more calmly at the King if he were resolved in no 
case to outlive the King. I said nothing; what 
could I say or do now ? But strangely and sud- 
denly, under the influence of this thought, my an- 
ger died away. I saw with his eyes and felt with 
his heart ; I saw how he stood, and I knew that I 
had brought him to that pass. Was it strange that 
he fired at me without faltering, although I might 
be ten times a king? It seemed to me almost just 
that he should kill me. Varvilliers would not give 
him a revolver. Did Varvilliers also suspect? I 
think his fear was rather of our extreme rage against 
one another. It occurred to me that I would not 
aim at my opponent. But then I thought I had 
no right to act thus ; it would make matters worse 
for him if I fell. Besides my own life did not seem 
to me a thing to be thrown away lightly. 

Varvilliers produced another pair of pistols, simi- 
lar to those which Wetter and I now held. He 
loaded both, fired them into the targets, and placed 
one on a shelf at either end of the room. 

“Those are the first shots. You understand? 
The gentleman who is hit made the mistake of not 
212 


DECIDEDLY MEDIAEVAL 

expecting a second shot. Now, sire — if you are 
ready ? ” 

We took up our positions, each six feet in front 
of the targets ; a bullet which hit me would, but 
for the interruption, have struck on, or directly 
above or below, the outermost target on the right- 
hand side. 

Vohrenlorf and Yarvilliers stood on either side of 
the room ; the latter was to give the signal. In- 
deed Vohrenlorf could not have been trusted with 
such a duty. 

“ I shall say fire, one — two — three,” said Varvil- 
liers. “ You will both fire before the last word is 
ended. Are you ready ? ” 

We signified our assent. Wetter was pale, but 
apparently quite collected. I was very much alive 
to every impression. For example, I noticed a 
man’s tread outside and the tune that he was whis- 
tling. I lifted my pistol and took aim. At that 
moment I meant to kill Wetter if I could, and I 
thought that I could. It did not even occur to me 
that I was in any serious danger myself. 

“ Are you ready ? Now! ” said Varvilliers, in his 
smooth, distinct tones. 

I looked straight into Wetter’s eyes, and I did 
not doubt that I could send my bullet as straight 
as my glance. I felt that I saw before me a dead 
man. 

I am unable to give even to myself any satisfac- 
tory explanation of my next act. It was done un- 
der an impulse so instantaneous, so single, so simply 
powerful as to defy analysis. I have the conscious- 
ness of one thought or feeling only ; but even to 
myself it seems absurd and inadequate to account 
for what I did. Yet I can give no other reason. I 
213 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


had no relenting toward Wetter as a man, as com- 
panion, or as former friend. I was not remorseful 
about my own part in the affair, and did not now 
accuse myself of being responsible for the quarrel. 
Suddenly — and I record the feeling for what it is 
worth — it came upon me that I must not kill him. 
Why? That Englishman would laugh. I am in- 
clined to laugh myself. Well, I was only twenty- 
four, and, moreover, in a state of high tension, fresh 
from great emotional excitement and a sleepless 
night. Because he was one of my people, and great 
among them ; because he might do great things for 
them ; because he was one of those given to me, 
for whom I was answerable. I can get no nearer 
to it — it was something of that kind. Some con- 
ception of it may be gained if I say that I have 
never signed a death-warrant without a struggle 
against a somewhat similar feeling. Whatever it 
was, it resulted in an inability to try to kill him. 
As Varvilliers’ voice pronounced in clear, quiet 
tones “Fire!” I shifted my aim gently and im- 
perceptibly. If it were true now, the ball would 
pass his ear and bury itself in the wainscotting be- 
hind. 

“ One — two — three ! ” 

I fired on the last word ; I saw the smoke of 
W etter’s pistol ; he stood motionless. In an instant 
I felt myself hit. I was amazed. I was hit, shot 
through the body. I staggered, and should have 
fallen ; Vohrenlorf ran to me, and I sank back in 
his arms. My head was clear, and I saw the order 
of events that followed. Varvilliers also had started 
toward me. Suddenly he stopped. Wetter had 
rushed across the room toward where the cartridges 
lay. Varvilliers sprang upon him and caught him 
214 


DECIDEDLY MEDLEY AL 


resolutely by the shoulders. I myself cried, “ Stop 
him ! ” even as I sank on the ground, my shoulders 
propped up against the wall. Before more could 
happen there was a loud rapping at the door, and 
the handle was twisted furiously. Somebody cried, 
“ Go for a doctor ! ” Then came Varvilliers’ voice, 
“You go, Wetter. We trust you to go. Who 
the devil’s at the door ? ” He sprang across and 
opened it. Yohrenlorf was asking me in trembling 
whispers where I was hit. I paid no heed to him. 
The door opened, and to my amazement William 
Adolphus ran in, closely followed by Coralie Man- 
soni. I was past speaking, soon I became past con- 
sciousness. The last I remember is that Coralie 
was kneeling by me, Vohrenlorf still supporting me, 
the rest standing round. Yet, though I did not 
know it, I spoke. Varvilliers told me afterward 
that I muttered, “An accident — my fault.” I 
heard what they said, though I was unconscious of 
speaking myself. 

“ It wasn’t ! ” Coralie cried. 

“ On my honour, a pure accident,” said Varvil- 
liers. 

Then the whole scene faded away from me. 

There can be no doubt that it was Wetter’s in- 
tention to take his own life in case he hit me. I 
had discovered this resolution; Varvilliers was not 
behind me. Had revolvers been employed no 
power could have hindered Wetter from carry- 
ing out his purpose. But Varvilliers had prevented 
this, and by despatching my antagonist to seek 
medical aid had put him on his parole. He re- 
turned with one of my surgeons in a very short 
space of time ; perhaps the desperate fit had passed 
then, perhaps he had come to feel that he must 
215 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


face the consequences of his act. I know that 
Varvilliers spoke to him again and very urgently, 
obtaining at last a pledge from him that he would 
at least await the verdict on my case. But when 
he had fired at me he had considered himself as a 
man in any event doomed to death. We are 
strangely at fault in our forecasts of fate. He was 
uninjured ; I, who had been confident of escaping 
unhurt, lay on the edge between life and death. 
My presentiment was signally falsified. 

But we must be just even to superstitions. I 
had my presentiment, and it was wrong. Coralie 
Mansoni also had hers, and most unfortunately, 
for from hers came the sole danger that threatened 
the success of our scheme and impaired the per- 
fection of our pretences. Had William Adolphus 
been a man of strong will no harm would have 
been done; but he was as wax in her hands. 
When he left us, he went on his ride, and in the 
park he met her, driving herself in her little pony- 
chaise. She had been quite unable to sleep, she 
said, and had been tempted by the fine morning ; 
had he seen the King ? William Adolphus, with- 
out a thought of indiscretion, described how he 
had found us in the Pavilion. In an instant her 
mind, inflamed by her fancies and readily suspi- 
cious, was on fire with fear; fear turned to an in- 
stinctive certainty. My brother-in-law was amazed 
at her agitation ; she swept away his opposition ; 
he must take her to the Pavilion, or she would go 
alone ; nothing else would serve. But he should 
have held her where she was by main force rather 
than bring her ; the one fatal thing was to allow 
her to appear in the affair at all. He could not 
withstand her ; he did not know the extent of his 
216 


DECIDEDLY MEDIAEVAL 


error, but he knew that to bring her within the 
precincts of the palace was a sore indiscretion. 
She overbore him; they burst together into the 
room, as I have described. And, being there, she 
would not go, and was seen by two doctors, by 
Baptiste, and by the shooting-master, who came to 
carry me to my apartments. Then at last Varvil- 
liers prevailed on her to allow herself to be smug- 
gled out through the back gate of the gardens, and 
himself took her to her house in a condition of 
great distress and collapse. She, at least, was not 
deceived by the pretence of an accident. 

Were other people? I feel myself on doubtful 
ground. What was said at the moment I know 
only by hearsay, for I was incapable of attending 
to anything for three months. There was an enor- 
mous amount of gossip and of talk ; there were, I 
think, many hints and smiles ; there were hundreds 
of people who knew the truth, but were careful 
not to submit their versions to the test of publicity. 

But what could be done? Varvilliers and Voh- 
renlorf, men of unblemished honour, were firm in 
their assertions and unshaken in their evidence ; 
Wetter s obvious consternation at the event was 
invoked as confirmatory evidence. As soon as I 
was able to give my account, my voice and author- 
ity were cast decisively into the same scale. Men 
might suspect and women might gossip. Nothing 
could be done ; and as soon as the first stir was 
over, Wetter left for a tour abroad without any 
opposition, and carrying with him a good deal of 
sympathy. The King’s own carelessness was of 
course responsible, but it was very terrible for 
Wetter, so they said. 

But a point remains; how did we account for 
2X7 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


Coralie and the presence of Coralie ? In fact we 
never did account very satisfactorily for Coralie. 
We sacrificed — or rather Varvilliers and Vohren- 
lorf sacrificed — William Adolphus without hesita- 
tion, saying truly enough that he had brought 
her. Victoria was extremely angry and my broth- 
er-in-law much aggrieved. But I must admit that 
the story met with very hesitating acceptance. 
Some denied it altogether, the more clear-sighted 
perceived that, even were its truth allowed, it pre- 
supposed more than it told. There was something 
in the background; that was what everybody 
thought. What ? That was what nobody knew. 
However, I am afraid that there were quite enough 
suspicion and enough talk to justify my English 
friend in his remark about the one or two scandals 
which attached themselves to my name. I beg 
leave to hope that his charitable expression of sur- 
prise that there were not more may be considered 
equally well justified. 

While I lay ill, Princess Heinrich was the domi- 
nant influence in the administration of affairs. 
When I recovered, I found that Coralie Mansoni 
was no longer playing in Forstadt, and had left the 
town some weeks before. I put no questions to 
my mother. I also found that Varvilliers had re- 
signed his official position in the French service, 
and remained in Forstadt as a private person. 
Here again, at Varvilliers’ own request, I put no 
questions to my mother. Finally I was informed 
that the Bartensteins had offered themselves for a 
visit. Again I put no questions to my mother. I 
determined, however, not to be laid on the shelf 
again for three months, if I could help it. 

Such is the history of my secret duel with Wet- 
218 


DECIDEDLY MEDIAEVAL 


ter and of my acquaintance with Coralie Mansoni 
up to the date of that occurrence. Such also is 
the story of that apparently very bad shot which 
my little son found in the wainscotting of the Gar- 
den Pavilion. But it was not such a very bad 
shot ; not everybody would have gone so near and 
yet made sure of not hitting. 


219 


CHAPTER XVIII 


WILLIAM ADOLPHUS HITS THE MARK 

At Artenberg, whither we went when I was con- 
valescent, the family atmosphere recalled old days. 
We were all in disgrace — Victoria because she had 
not managed her husband better, William Adolphus 
for behaviour confessedly scandalous, I by reason of 
those rumours at which I have hinted. My sister 
and brother-in-law were told of their faults and 
warned, the one against professors, the other against 
actresses. My delinquencies were treated with ab- 
solute silence. Princess Heinrich reminded me how 
I had degraded my office by a studious, though cold, 
deference toward it on her own part. The king 
was the king, be he never so unruly. His mother 
could only disapprove and grieve in silence. But 
in the hands of Princess Heinrich silence was a 
trenchant weapon. William Adolphus also was very 
sulky with me. I found some excuse for him. To- 
ward his wife he wore a hang-dog air; from Prin- 
cess Heinrich he fairly ran away whenever he could. 
In these relations toward one another we settled 
down to pass a couple of summer months at Arten- 
berg. N ow was early J uly. In August would come 
the visit of the Bartensteins. 

Beside this great fact all else troubled me little. 
I fell victim to an engrossing selfishness. The quar- 
rels and woes of my kindred went unnoticed, except 
when they served for a moment’s amusement. To 
the fortunes of those with whom I had lately been 
220 


WILLIAM ADOLPHUS HITS THE MARK 


so much concerned, of Wetter and of Coralie, I was 
almost indifferent. Varvilliers wrote to me, and I 
answered in friendly fashion, but I did not at that 
time desire his presence. So far as my thoughts 
dwelt on the past, they overleaped what was imme- 
diately behind, and took me back to my first rebel- 
lion, my first struggle against the fate of my life, 
my first refusal to run into the mould. I remem- 
bered my Governor’s comforting assurance that I 
had still six years ; I remembered the dedication of 
my early love to the Countess. Then I had cher- 
ished delusions, thinking that the fate might be 
avoided. Herein lay the sincerity and honesty of 
that first attachment, and an enduring quality which 
made good for it its footing in memory. In it I was 
not passing the time or merely yielding to a desire 
for enjoyment. I was struggling with necessity. 
The high issue had seemed to lend some dignity 
even to a boy’s raw love-making, a dignity that 
shone dimly through thick folds of encircling ab- 
surdity. I had not been particularly absurd in 
regard to Coralie Mansoni, but neither had there 
been in that affair any redeeming worthiness or 
dignity of conception or of struggle. Now all 
seemed over, struggle and waywardness, the dig- 
nified and undignified, the absurdly pathetic and the 
recklessly impulsive. The six years were nearly 
gone. Princess Heinrich’s steady pressure con- 
tracted their extent by some months. The coming 
of the Bartensteins was imminent. The era of Elsa 
began. 

Old Prince Hammerfeldt had left a successor be- 
hind him in the person of his nephew, Baron von 
Bederhof, and this gentleman was now my Chancel- 
lor and my chief official adviser. He was a portly 
15 221 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


man of about fifty, with red cheeks and black hair. 
He was high in favour with my mother, the hus- 
band of a buxom wife, and the father of nine children. 
As is not unusual in cases of hereditary succession, 
he was adequate to his office, although he would 
certainly not have been selected for it unless he had 
been his uncle’s nephew ; but, being the depositary 
of Hammerfeldt’s traditions (although not of his 
brains), he contrived to pass muster. He came at 
this time to Artenberg, and urged on me the neces- 
sity of a speedy marriage. 

“The recent danger, so providentially averted,” he 
said, “ is a stronger argument than any I could use.” 

“ It certainly is, ” said I politely. As a fact, it 
might be stronger than any he would be likely to 
use, and yet not be impregnable. 

“ For the sake of your people, sire, do not delay.” 

“ My dear Baron,” said I, “ send for the young 
lady to-morrow. I haven’t seen her since she was a 
child, so let her bring a letter of identification.” 

“ You joke ! ” said he. “ There can be no doubt. 
Her parents will accompany her.” 

“True, true!” I exclaimed, in a tone of relief. 
“ There will be really no substantial risk of having 
an impostor planted on us.” 

“ I am confident,” observed Bederhof, “ that the 
marriage will be most happy.” 

“ You are ? ” 

“Undoubtedly, sire.” 

“ Then we won’t lose a moment,” I cried. 

Bederhof looked slightly puzzled, but also rather 
complimented. He cleared his throat (if only he 
could have cleared his head as often and as thor- 
oughly as he did his throat!) and asked, “ Er — there 
are no complications ? ” 


222 


WILLIAM ADOLPHUS HITS THE MARK 

44 I beg your pardon, Baron.” 

44 I am ashamed to suggest it, but people do talk. 
I mean — no other attachment ? ” 

“ I have yet to learn, Baron,” said I with dignity, 
44 that such a thing, even if it existed, would be of 
any importance compared to the welfare of the 
kingdom and the dynasty.” 

“Not of the least ! ” he cried hastily. 

4 4 1 never suspected you of such a paradox really,” 
I assured him with a smile. 44 And if the lady should 
harbour such a thing that would be of equal insig- 
nificance.” 

44 My uncle, the Prince — ” he began. 

44 Knew all this just as well as we do, my dear 
Baron,” I interrupted. 44 Come, send for Princess 
Elsa. I am all impatience.” 

Even the stupidest of men may puzzle a careful 
observer on one point — as to the extent of his stupid- 
ity. I did not always know whether Bederhof was 
so superlatively dull as to believe a thing, or merely 
so permissibly dull as to consider that he ought to 
pretend to believe it. Perhaps he had come himself 
not to know the difference between the two atti- 
tudes ; certain ecclesiastics would furnish an illus- 
tration of what I mean. Princess Heinrich’s was 
quite another complexion of mind. She assumed 
a belief with as much conscious art as a bonnet or a 
mantle ; just as you knew that the natural woman 
beneath was different from the garment which cov- 
ered her, so you were aware that my mother’s real 
opinion was absolutely diverse from the view she 
professed. In both cases propriety forbade any refer- 
ence to the natural naked substratum. The Prin- 
cess, with an art that scorned concealment, con- 
gratulated me upon my approaching happiness, 
223 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


declared that the marriage was one of inclination, 
and, having paid it this seemly tribute, at once fell 
to discussing how the public would receive it. I 
believe, however, that she detected in me a certain 
depression of spirits, for she rallied me (again with 
a superb ignoring of what we were both aware of) 
on being moped at the moment when I should 
have been exultant. 

“ I am looking at it from Elsa’s point of view,” I 
explained. 

“ Elsa’s ? Really I don’t see that Elsa has any- 
thing to complain of. The position’s beyond what 
she had any right to expect.” 

All was well with Elsa; that seemed evident 
enough ; it was a better position than Elsa had any 
right to expect. Poor dear child, I seem to see 
her rolling down the bank again, expecting and de- 
siring no other position than to be on her back, 
with her little legs twinkling about in the air. 

“ I think,” said I meditatively, “ that it would be 
a good thing if, in providing wives, they reverted 
to the original plan and took out a rib. One 
wouldn’t feel that one’s rib had any particular right 
to complain at having its fortunes mixed up with 
one’s own.” 

My mother remained silent. I looked across the 
terrace and saw Victoria’s three- year- old girl play- 
ing about. 

“ The child’s so like William Adolphus,” said I, 
sighing. 

My mother rose with deliberate carelessness and 
walked away. 

It may be wondered why I did not rebel. I 
must answer, first, from the binding force of famil- 
iarity ; I hated the thing, but it had made good its 
224 


WILLIAM ADOLPHUS HITS THE MARK 


place in the map of my life ; secondly, from the im- 
possibility of inflicting a slight; thirdly, because I 
rather chose to hear the ills I had than fly to others 
that I knew not of. Who revolts save in the glow- 
ing hope of bettering his lot ? I must marry ; who 
was there to be preferred before Elsa ? It did not 
occur to me that I might remain single ; I should 
have shared the general opinion that such an act 
was little removed from treason. It would not 
only be to end my own line, it would be to install 
the children of William Adolphus. I did not grant 
even a moment’s hospitality to such an idea. Be- 
derhof was right, the marriage was urgent; I must 
marry — just as occasionally I was compelled to re- 
view the troops. I had as little aptitude for one 
duty as for the other, but both were among my ob- 
ligations. I was so rooted in this attitude that I 
turned to Victoria with a start of surprise when she 
said to me one day : 

“ She’s very pretty ; I daresay you’ll fall in love 
with her.” 

She was pretty, if her last portrait spoke truth ; 
she was a slim girl, of very graceful figure, with 
small features and large blue eyes, which were 
merry in the picture, but looked as if they could be 
sad also. I had studied this attractive shape at- 
tentively ; yet Victoria’s suggestion seemed prepos- 
terous, incongruous — I had nearly said improper. 
A moment later it set me laughing. 

“ Perhaps I shall,” I said with a chuckle. 

“ I don’t see anything amusing in the idea,” ob- 
served Victoria. “ I think you’re being given a 
much better chance than I ever had.” 

The old grudge was working in her mind ; by 
covert allusion she was recalling the part I had 
225 


THE KING S MIRROR 

taken in the arrangement of her future. Yet she 
had contrived to be jealous of her husband ; that 
old puzzle recurs. 

44 I suppose,” I mused, 44 that I’m having a very 
good chance.” I looked inquiringly at my sister. 

46 If you use it properly. You can be very pleas- 
ant to women when you like. She’s sure to come 
ready to fall in love with you. She’s such a child.” 

44 You mean that she’ll have no standard of com- 
parison ? ” 

44 She can’t have had any experience at all.” 

44 Not even a baron over at Walden wei ter ? ” 

44 What a fool I was ! ” reflected Victoria. 44 Moth- 
er was horrid, though,” she added a moment later. 
She never allowed the perception of her own folly 
to plead on behalf of Princess Heinrich. 44 1 ex- 
pect you’ll go mad about her,” she resumed. 44 You 
see, any woman can manage you, Augustin. Think 
of ” 

44 Thanks, dear, I remember them all,” I inter- 
posed. 

44 The question is, how will mother treat her,” 
pronounced Victoria. 

It was not the question at all; that Victoria 
thought it was merely illustrated the Princess’s per- 
sistent dominance over her daughter’s imagination. 
I allow, however, that it was an interesting, al- 
though subordinate speculation. 

The Bartensteins’ present visit was to be as pri- 
vate as possible. The arrangement was that Elsa 
and I should be left to roam about the woods to- 
gether, to become well known to one another, and 
after about three weeks to fall in love. The Duke 
was not to be of the party on this occasion (wise 
Duke ! ) and, when I had made my proposal, mother 
226 


WILLIAM ADOLPHUS HITS THE MARK 

and daughter would return home to receive the fa- 
ther’s blessing and to wait while the business was 
settled. When all was finished, I should receive 
my bride in state at Forstadt, and the wedding 
would be solemnised. In reply to my questions 
Bederhof admitted that he could not at present fix 
the final event within a fortnight or so ; he did not, 
however, consider this trifling uncertainty material. 

“No more do I, my dear Baron,” said I. 

44 Here,” said he, 44 is the picture of your Majesty 
which Princess Heinrich has just sent to Barten- 
stein.” 

I looked at the lanky figure, the long face, and 
the pained smile which I had presented to the 
camera. 

“ Good gracious ! ” I murmured softly. 

44 I beg your pardon, sire ? ” 

44 It is very like me.” 

44 An admirable picture.” 

What in the world was Elsa feeling about it ? 
Thanks to this picture, I was roused from the mood 
of pure self-regard and allowed my mind to ask how 
the world was looking to Elsa. I did not find en- 
couragement in the only answer that I could hon- 
estly give to my question. 

Just at this time I received a letter from Varvil- 
liers containing intelligence which was not only in- 
teresting in itself, but seemed to possess a peculiar 
appositeness. He had heard from Coralie Mansoni, 
and she announced to him her marriage with a 
prominent operatic impresario. 44 You have per- 
haps seen the fellow,” Varvilliers wrote. 44 He has 
small black eyes and large black whiskers ; his 
stomach is very big, but, for shame or for what 
reason I know not, he hides it behind a bigger gold 
227 


THE KING S MIRROR 


locket. Coralie detests him, but it has been her 
ambition to sing in grand opera. ‘ It is my career, 
mon cher she writes. Behold, sentiment is sacri- 
ficed, and we shall hear her in Wagner ! She 
thinks that she performs a duty, and she is almost 
sure that it need not be very onerous. She is a 
sensible woman, our dear Coralie. For the rest I 
have no news save that Wetter is said to have 
broken the bank at baccarat, and may be expected 
shortly to return home and resume his task of im- 
proving the condition and morals of the people. I 
hear reports of your Majesty that occasion me con- 
cern. But courage ! Coralie has led the way ! ” 

“ Come,” said I to myself aloud, “ if Coralie, al- 
though she detests him, yet for her career’s sake 
marries him, it little becomes me to make wry 
faces. Haven’t I also, in my small way, a career ? ” 

But Coralie hoped that her duty would not be 
very onerous. I had nothing to do with that. 
The difference there was in temperament, not cir- 
cumstances. 

I have kept the Duchess and Elsa an intolerably 
long while on their journey to Artenberg. In fact 
they came quickly and directly ; we were advised 
of their start, and two days of uncomfortable ex- 
citement brought us to the hour of their arrival. 
For once in her life Princess Heinrich betrayed 
signs of disturbance; to my wonder I detected an 
undisguised look of appeal in her eyes as she 
watched me at my luncheon which I took with her 
on the fateful day. I understood that she was im- 
ploring me to treat the occasion properly, and that 
its importance had driven her from her wonted re- 
serve. I endeavoured to reassure her by a light 
and cheerful demeanour, but my effort was not 
228 


WILLIAM ADOLPHUS HITS THE MARK 


successful enough to prevent her from saying a few 
words to me after the meal. I assured her that 
Elsa should receive from me the most delicate 
respect. 

“I’m not afraid of your being too precipitate,” 
she said. “ It’s not that.” 

“No, I shall not be too precipitate,” I agreed. 

“ But remember that — that she’s quite a girl, 
and ” — my mother broke off, looked at me for a 
moment, and then looked away — “ she’ll like you if 
you make her think you like her,” she went on in a 
moment. 

I seemed suddenly to see the true woman and to 
hear the true opinion. The crisis then was great ; 
my mother had dropped the veil and thrown aside 
her finished art. 

“ I hope to like her very much,” said I. 

Princess Heinrich was a resolute woman; the 
path on which she set her foot she trod to the end. 

“ I know what you’ve persuaded yourself you feel 
about it,” she said bluntly and rather scornfully. 
“ Well, don’t let her see that.” 

“ She would refuse me ? ” 

“No. She’d marry you and hate you for it. 
Above all, don’t laugh at her.” 

I sat silently looking at Princess Heinrich. 

“You’re so strange,” she said. “ I don’t know 
what’s made you so. Have you no feelings ? ” 

“Do you think that?” I asked, smiling. 

“ Yes, I do,” she answered defiantly. “ You were 
the same even as a boy. It was no use appealing 
to your affections.” 

I had outgrown my taste for wrangles. But I 
certainly did not recollect that either Krak or my 
mother had been in the habit of appealing to my 
229 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


affections; Krak’s appeals, at least, had been ad- 
dressed elsewhere. Yet my mother spoke in abso- 
lute sincerity. 

“ It’s only just at first that it matters,” she went 
on in a calmer tone. “ Afterward she won’t mind. 
You’ll learn not to expect too much from one an- 
other.” 

“ I assure you that lesson is already laid to my 
heart,” said I, rising. 

My mother ended the interview and resumed her 
mask. She called Victoria to her and sent her to 
make a personal inspection of the quarters prepared 
for our guests. I sat waiting on the terrace, while 
William Adolphus wandered about in a state of 
conscious and wretched superfluousness. I believe 
that Victoria had forbidden him to smoke. 

They came ; there ensued some moments of em- 
bracing. Good Cousin Elizabeth was squarer and 
stouter than six years ago. Her cheeks had not 
lost their ruddy hue. She was a favourite of mine, 
and I was glad to find that her manner had not lost 
its heartiness as she kissed me affectionately on 
both cheeks. At the same time there was a differ- 
ence. Cousin Elizabeth was a little flurried and a 
little apologetic. When she turned to Elsa I saw 
her eye run in a rapid, anxious glance over her 
daughter’s raiment. Then she led her forward. 

“ She’s changed since you saw her last, isn’t she? ” 
she asked in a mixture of pride and uneasiness. 
“ But you’ve seen photographs, of course,” she 
added immediately. 

I bent low and kissed my cousin’s hand. She 
was very visibly embarrassed, and her cheeks 
turned red. She glanced at her mother as though 
asking what she ought to do. In the end she shook 
230 


WILLIAM ADOLPHUS HITS THE MARK 

hands and glanced again, apparently in a sudden 
conviction that she had done the wrong thing. 
There can be very little doubt that we ought to 
have kissed one another on the cheek. Victoria 
came up, and I turned away to give my arm to 
Cousin Elizabeth. 

“She’s so young,” whispered Cousin Elizabeth, 
hugging my arm. 

“ She’s a very pretty girl,” said I, responsively 
pressing Cousin Elizabeth’s fingers. 

Cousin Elizabeth smiled, and I felt her pat my 
arm ever so gently. I could not help smiling, in 
spite of my mother’s warning. I heard Victoria 
chattering merrily to Elsa. A gift of inconsequent 
chatter is by no means without its place in the 
world, although we may prefer that others should 
supply the commodity. I heard Elsa’s bright, 
sweet laugh in answer. She was much more com- 
fortable with Victoria. A minute later the arrival 
of Victoria’s little girl made her absolutely happy. 

I had been instructed to treat the Duchess with 
the most distinguished courtesy and the highest 
tributes of respect. My mother and I put her be- 
tween us and escorted her to her rooms. Elsa, it was 
considered, would be more at her ease without such 
pomp. My mother was magnificent. On such oc- 
casions she shone. Nevertheless she rather alarmed 
honest Cousin Elizabeth. A perfect manner alarms 
many people ; it seems so often to exhibit an un- 
holy remoteness from the natural. Cousin Eliza- 
beth was, I believe, rather afraid of being left alone 
with my mother. For her sake I rejoiced to meet 
her servants hurrying up to her assistance. I re- 
turned to the garden. 

Elsa had not gone in ; she sat on a seat with 
231 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


Victoria’s baby in her arms. Victoria was stand- 
ing by, telling her how she ought and ought not to 
hold the little creature. William Adolphus also 
had edged near and stood, hands in pockets, with a 
broad smile on his excellent countenance. I paused 
and watched. He drew quite near to Victoria ; 
she turned her head, spoke to him, smiled and 
laughed merrily. Elsa tossed and tickled the 
baby; both Victoria and William Adolphus looked 
pleased and proud. It is easy to be too hard on 
life ; one should make a habit of reflecting occa- 
sionally out of what very unpromising materials 
happiness can be manufactured. These four be- 
ings were at this moment, each and all of them, 
incontestably happy. Ah, well, I must go and dis- 
turb them ! 

I walked up to the group. On the sight of me 
Victoria suppressed her kindliness toward her hus- 
band ; she did not wish me to make the mistake of 
supposing that she was content. William Adolphus 
looked supremely ashamed and uncomfortable. The 
child, being suddenly snatched by her mother, 
puckered lips and brows and threatened tears. 
Elsa sprang up with heightened colour and stood 
in an attitude of uneasiness. Why, yes, I had dis- 
turbed their happiness very effectually. 

“ I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” I pleaded. 

“Nonsense; we weren’t doing anything,” said 
Victoria. “ I’ll show you your rooms, Elsa, 
shall I?” 

Elsa, I believe, would have elected to be shown 
something much more alarming than a bedroom 
in order to escape from my presence. She ac- 
cepted Victoria’s offer with obvious thankfulness. 
The two went off with the baby. William 
232 


WILLIAM ADOLPHUS HITS THE MARK 

Adolphus, still rather embarrassed, took out a 
cigar. We sat down side by side and both began 
to smoke. There was a silence for several mo- 
ments. 

“She’s a pretty girl,” observed my brother-in- 
law at last. 

“ Very,” I agreed. 

“ Seems a bit shy, though,” he suggested, with a 
sidelong glance at me. 

“ She seemed to be getting on very well with 
you and the baby.” 

“ Oh, yes, she was all right then,” said William 
Adolphus. 

“ I suppose,” said I, “ that I frighten her rather.” 

William Adolphus took a long pull at his cigar, 
looked at the ash carefully, and then gazed for 
some moments across the river toward Walden- 
weiter. It was a beautiful evening, and my eyes 
followed in the same direction. Thus we sat for 
quite a long time. Then William Adolphus gave 
a laugh. 

“ She’s got to get used to you,” he said. 

“ Precisely,” said I. 

For that was pretty Elsa’s task in life. 


233 


CHAPTER XIX 


GREAT PROMOTION 

I should be doing injustice to my manners and 
(a more serious offence) distorting truth, if I repre- 
sented myself as a shy gaby, afraid or ashamed to 
make love because people knew the business on 
which I was engaged. Holding a position like 
mine has at least the virtue of curing a man of 
such folly; I had been accustomed to be looked at 
from the day I put on breeches, and, thanks to un- 
familiarity with privacy, had come not to expect 
and hardly to miss it. The trouble was unhappily 
of a deeper and more obstinate sort, rooted in my 
own mind and not due to the covert stares or open, 
good-natured interest of those who surrounded me. 
There is a quality which is the sign and soul of 
high and genuine pleasure, whether of mind or 
body, of sight, feeling, or imagination; I mean 
spontaneity. This characteristic, with its included 
incidents of unexpectedness, of suddenness, often 
of unwisdom and too entire absorption in the mo- 
ment, comes, I take it, from a natural agreement 
of what you are with what you do, not planned or 
made, but revealed all at once and full-grown; 
when the heart finds it, it knows that it is satis- 
fied. The action fits the agent — the exercise 
matches the faculty. Thenceforward what you 
are about does itself without your aid, but pours 
into your hand the treasure that rewards success, 
the very blossom of life. There may be bitter- 
234 


GREAT PROMOTION 


ness, reproaches, stings of conscience, or remorse. 
These things are due to other claims and obliga- 
tions, artificial, perhaps, in origin, although now of 
binding force. Beneath and beyond them is the 
self-inspired harmony of your nature with your 
act, sometimes proud enough to claim for itself a 
justification from the mere fact of existence, 
oftener content to give that question the go-by, 
whispering softly, “ What matters that ? I am.” 

By some such explanation as this, possibly not 
altogether wide of the mark, I sought to account 
for my disposition in the days that followed Elsa’s 
arrival. I was conscious of an extreme reluctance 
to set about my task. I have used the right word 
there ; a task it seemed to me. The trail of busi- 
ness and arrangement was over it ; it was defaced 
by an intolerable propriety, ungraced by a scrap of 
uncertainty ; its stages had been marked, num- 
bered, and catalogued beforehand. Bederhof knew 
the wedding-day to within a fortnight, the settle- 
ment to within a shilling, the addresses of con- 
gratulation to a syllable. To this knowledge we 
were all privy. God save us, how we played the 
hypocrite ! 

I am fully aware that there are men to whom 
these feelings would not have occurred. There 
are probably women in regard to whom nobody 
would have experienced them in a very keen form. 
Insensibility is infectious. We have few scruples 
in regard to the unscrupulous. We feel that the 
exact shade of colour is immaterial when we pre- 
sent a new coat to a blind man. Had Hammer- 
feldt left as his legacy the union with some rude 
healthy creature, to follow his desire might have 
been an easy thing — one which, on a broad view of 
235 


THE KINGS MIRROR 

my life, would have been relatively insignificant. I 
should have disliked my duty and done it, as I did 
a thousand things I disliked. But I should not 
have been afflicted with the sense that where I en- 
dured ten lashes another endured a thousand ; that, 
being a fellow-sufferer, I seemed the executioner ; 
that, myself yearning to be free, I was busied in 
forging chains. It was in this light that Elsa 
made me regard myself, so that every word to her 
from my lips seemed a threat, every approach an 
impertinence, every hour of company I asked a 
forecast of the lifelong bondage that I prepared for 
her. This was my unhappy mood, while Victoria 
laughed, jested, and spurred me on ; while William 
Adolphus opined that Elsa must get used to me ; 
while Cousin Elizabeth smiled open motherly en- 
couragement ; while Princess Heinrich moved 
through the appropriate figures as though she 
graced a stately minuet. I had come to look for 
little love in the world; I was afflicted with the 
new terror that I must be hated. 

Yet she did not hate me ; or, at least, our natures 
were not such as to hate one another or to be re- 
pugnant naturally. Nay, I believe that we were born 
to be good and appreciative friends. Sometimes in 
those early days we found a sympathy of thought 
that made us for the moment intimate and easy, 
forgetful of our obligation, and frankly pleased with 
the society which we afforded one another. Soon 
I came to enjoy these intervals, to look and to plan 
for them. In them I seemed to get glimpses of 
what my young cousin ought to be always; but 
they were brief and fleeting. An intrusion ended 
them ; or, more often, they were doomed to perish 
at my hands or at hers. A troubled shyness would 
236 


GREAT PROMOTION 


suddenly eclipse her mirth ; or I would be seized 
with a sense that my cheating of fate was useless, 
and served only to make the fate more bitter. She 
seemed to dread any growth of friendship, and to 
pull herself up abruptly when she felt in danger of 
being carried away into a genuine comradeship. I 
was swiftly responsive to such an attitude; again 
we drew apart. Here is an extract from a letter 
which I wrote to Varvilliers ; 

“ My dear Varvilliers : The state of things 
here is absurd enough. My cousin and I can’t like, 
because we are ordered to love ; can’t be friends, 
because we must be mates ; can’t talk, because we 
must flirt ; can’t be comfortable alone together, be- 
cause everybody prepares our tete-a-tete for us. She 
is in apprehension of an amourousness which I de- 
spair of displaying ; I am ashamed of a backward- 
ness which is her only comfort. And the audience 
grows impatient ; had the gods given them humour 
they would laugh consumedly. Surely even they 
must smile soon, and so soon as they smile I must 
take the leap ; for, my dear friend, we may be pri- 
vately unhappy, but we must not be publicly ludi- 
crous. To-day, as we walked a yard apart along 
the terrace, I seemed to see a smile on a gardener’s 
face. If it were of benevolence, matters may not 
advance just yet; if I conclude that amusement in- 
spired it, even before you receive this I may have per- 
formed my duty and she her sacrifice. Pray laugh 
at and for me from your safe distance ; in that there 
can be no harm. I laugh myself sometimes, but 
dare not risk sharing my laugh with Elsa. She has 
humour, but to ask her to turn its rays on this 
situation would be too venturous a stroke. An ab- 
16 237 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


solute absorption in the tragic aspect is probably 
the only specific which will enable her to endure. 
Unhappily the support of pure tragedy, with its 
dignity of unbroken gloom, is not mine. I forget 
sometimes to be unhappy in reflecting that I am 
damnably ridiculous. What, I wonder, were the 
feelings of Coralie at the first attentions of her big- 
bellied impresario ? Did stern devotion nerve her? 
W as her face pale and her lips set in tragic mode ? 
Or did she smile and yawn and drawl and shrug in 
her old delightful fashion? I would give much to 
be furnished with details of this parallel. Mean- 
while Bederhof tears his hair, for I threaten to be 
behind time, and the good Duchess tells me thrice 
daily that Elsa is timid. Princess Heinrich has 
made no sign yet; when she frowns I must kiss. 
So stands the matter. I must go hence to pray 
her to walk in the woods with me. She will flush 
and flutter, but, poor child, she will come. What 
I ask she will not and must not refuse. But, deuce 
take it, I ask so little ! There’s the rub ! I hear 
your upbraiding voice, ‘ Pooh, man, catch her up 
and kiss her ! ’ Ah, my dear Varvilliers, you suffer 
under a confusion. She is a duty; and who is im- 
pelled by duty to these sudden cuttings of a knot? 
And she does a duty, and would therefore not kiss 
me in return. And I also, doing duty, am duty. 
Thus we are both of us strangled in the black coils 
of that belauded serpent.” 

I did not tell Varvilliers everything. Had I al- 
lowed myself complete unreserve I must have added 
that she charmed me, and that the very charm I 
found in her made my work harder. There was a 
dainty delicacy about her, the freshness of a flower 
238 


GREAT PROMOTION 


whose velvet bloom no finger-touch has rubbed. 
This I was to destroy. 

But at last from fear, not of the gardener’s smiles, 
but of my own ridicule, I made my start, and, as I 
foreshadowed to Varvilliers, it was as we walked in 
the woods that I began. 

44 What of that grenadier ? ” I asked her — she was 
sitting on a seat, while I leaned against a tree-trunk 
— 44 the grenadier you were in love with when I was 
at Bartenstein. You remember? You described 
him to me.” 

She blushed and laughed a little. 

“ He married a maid of my mother’s, and be- 
came one of the hall-porters. He’s grown so fat.” 

44 The dream is ended then ? ” 

46 Yes, if it ever began,” she answered. 44 How 
amused at me you must have been ! ” 

Suddenly she perceived my gaze on her, and her 
eyes fell. 

44 He was Romance, Elsa,” said I. 44 He has mar- 
ried and grown fat. His business now is to shut 
doors; he has shut the door on himself.” 

44 Yes,” she answered, half-puzzled, half-embar- 
rassed. 

44 He had an unsuccessful rival,” said I. 44 Do 
you recollect him? A lanky boy whom nobody 
cared much about. Elsa, the grenadier is out of the 
question.” 

Now she was agitated; but she sat still and silent. 
I moved and stood before her. My whole desire 
was to mitigate her fear and shrinking. She 
looked up at me gravely and steadily. It went to 
my heart that the grenadier was out of the ques- 
tion. Her lips quivered, but she maintained a tol- 
erable composure. 


239 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


“You should not say that about — about the lanky 
boy, Augustin,” said she. “We all liked him. I 
liked him.” 

“Well, he deserved it a little better then than 
now. Yet perhaps, since the grenadier ” 

“ I don’t understand what you mean about the 
grenadier.” 

“ Yes, don’t you ? ” I asked with a smile. “No 
dreams, Elsa, that you told to nobody ? ” 

She flushed for a moment, then she smiled. 
Her smiling heartened me, and I went on in lighter 
vein. 

“ One can never be sure of being miserable,” I 
said. 

“No,” she murmured softly, raising her eyes a 
moment to mine. The glance was brief, but hinted 
a coquetry whose natural play would have delighted 
— well, the grenadier. 

She seemed very pretty, sitting there in the half- 
shade, with the sun catching her fair hair. I stood 
looking down on her; presently her eyes rose to 
mine. 

“Not of being absolutely miserable,” said I. 

“ Y ou wouldn’t make anybody miserable. Y ou’re 
kind. Aren’t you kind ? ” 

She grew grave as she put her question. I made 
her no answer in words ; I bent down, took her hand, 
and kissed it. I held it, and she did not draw it 
away. I looked in her eyes ; there I saw the alarm 
and the shrinking that I had expected. But to my 
wonder I seemed to see something else. There was 
excitement, a sparkle witnessed to it ; I should 
scarcely be wrong if I called it triumph. I was 
suddenly struck with the idea that I had read my 
feelings into her too completely. It might be an 
240 


GREAT PROMOTION 


exaggeration to say that she wished to marry me, 
but was there not something in her that found sat- 
isfaction in the thought of marrying me? I re- 
membered with a new clearness how the little girl 
who rolled down the hill had thought that she 
would like to be a queen. At that moment this 
new idea of her brought me pure relief. I suppose 
there were obvious moralisings to be done ; it was 
also possible to take the matter to heart, as a tribute 
to my position at the cost of myself. I felt no sore- 
ness, and I did no moralising. I was honestly and 
fully glad that for any reason under heaven she 
wished to marry me. 

Moreover this touch of a not repulsive worldli- 
ness in her sapped some of my scruples. What I 
was doing no longer seemed sacrilege. She had one 
foot on earth already then, this pretty Elsa, lightly 
poised perhaps, and quite ethereal, yet in the end 
resting on this common earth of ours. She would 
get used to me, as William Adolphus put it, all the 
sooner. I took courage. The spirit of the scene 
gained some hold on me. I grew less depressed 
in manner, more ardent in looks. I lost my old 
desire not to magnify what I felt. The coquetry 
in her waged now an equal battle with her tim- 
idity. 

“ You’re sure you like me ? ” she asked. 

“ Is it incredible ? Have they never told you how 
pretty you are ? ” 

She laughed nervously, but with evident pleasure. 
Her eyes were bright with excitement. I held out 
my hands, and she put hers into them. I drew her 
to me and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She 
shrank suddenly away from me. 

“ Don’t be frightened,” I said, smiling. 

241 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ I am frightened,” she answered, with a look 
that seemed almost like defiance. 

“ Shall we say nothing about it for a little 
while ? ” 

This proposal did not seem to attract her, or 
to touch the root of the trouble, if trouble there 
were. 

“ I must tell mother,” she said. 

“ Then we’ll tell everybody.” I saw her looking 
at me with earnest anxiety. “ My dear,” said I, 
“ I’ll do what I can to make you happy.” 

We began to walk back through the wood side 
by side. Less on my guard than I ought to have 
been, I allowed myself to fall into a reverie. My 
thoughts fled back to previous love-makings, and, 
having travelled through these, fixed themselves on 
Varvilliers. It was but two days since I sent him 
a letter almost asserting that the task was impossible 
to achieve. He would laugh when he heard of its 
so speedy accomplishment. I began in my own 
mind to tell him about it, for I had come to like 
telling him my states of feeling, and no doubt often 
bored him with them ; but he seemed to under- 
stand them, and in his constant minimising of their 
importance I found a comfort. I had indeed al- 
most followed the advice he would have given 
me — almost taken her up and kissed her, and 
there ended the matter. A low laugh escaped from 
me. 

“ Why are you laughing ? ” Elsa asked, turning 
to me with a puzzled look. 

“ I’ve been so very much afraid of you,” I an- 
swered. 

“You afraid of me!” she cried. “Oh, if you 
only knew how terrified I’ve been ! ” She seemed 
242 


GREAT PROMOTION 


to be seized with an impulse to confidence. “ It was 
terrible coining here to see whether I should do, 
you know.” 

“ You knew you’d do ! ” 

“Oh, no. Mother always told me I mightn’t. 
She said you were — were rather peculiar.” 

“ I don’t know enough about other people to be 
able to say whether I’m peculiar.” 

She laughed, but not as though she saw any point 
in my observation (I daresay there was none), and 
walked on a few yards, smiling still. Then she said : 

“ Father will be pleased.” 

“ I hope everybody will be pleased. When you 
go to Forstadt the whole town will run mad over 
you.” 

“ What will they do ? ” 

“ Oh, what won’t they do ? Crowds, cheers, 
flowers, fireworks, all the rest of it. And your 
picture everywhere ! ” 

She drew in her breath in a long sigh. I looked 
at her and she blushed. 

“You’ll like that ? ” I asked with a laugh. 

She did not speak, but nodded her head twice. 
Her eyes laughed in triumph. She seemed happy 
now. My pestilent perversity gave me a shock of 
pain for her. 

When we came near the house she asked me to 
let her go alone and tell her mother. I had no ob- 
jection to offer. Indeed I was glad to escape a 
hand-in-hand appearance, rather recalling the foot- 
lights. She started off, and I fell into a slower walk. 
She almost ran with a rare buoyancy of movement. 
Once she turned her head and waved her hand to 
me merrily. I waited a little while at the end of 
the terrace, and then effected an entry into my 
243 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


room unperceived. The women would lose no time 
in telling one another; then there would be a 
bustle. I had now a quiet half-hour. By a move- 
ment that seemed inevitable I sat down at my 
writing-table and took up a pen. For several min- 
utes I sat twirling the quill between my fingers. 
Then I began to write: 

“ My dear Varvilliers : The impossible has 
happened, and was all through full of its own impos- 
sibility. I have done it. That now seems a little 
thing. The marvel remains. ‘ An absolute absorp- 
tion in the tragic aspect ’ — you remember, I dare- 
say, my phrase ; that was to have been her mood — 
seen through my coloured glasses. My glasses! 
Am I not too blind for any glasses ? She has just 
left me and run to her mother. She went as though 
she would dance. She is merry and triumphant. 
I am employed in marvelling. She wants to be a 
queen ; processions and ovations fill her eyes. She 
is happy. I would be happy for her sake, but I am 
oppressed by an anticipation. You will guess it. 
It is unavoidable that some day she will remember 
myself. We may postpone, but we cannot pre- 
vent, this catastrophe. What I am in myself, and 
what I mean to her, are things which she will some 
day awake to. I have to wait for the time. Yet 
that she is happy now is something, and I do not 
think that she will awake thoroughly before the 
marriage. There is therefore, as you will perceive, 
no danger of anything interfering with the auspi- 
cious event. My dear friend, let us ring the church 
bells and sing a Te Deum ; and the Chancellor 
shall write a speech concerning the constant and 
peculiar favour of God toward my family, and 
244 


GREAT PROMOTION 


the polite piety with which we have always re- 
quited His attentions. For just now all is well. 
She sleeps. 

“ Your faithful friend, 

“ Augustin.” 

I had just finished this letter when Baptiste 
rushed in, exclaiming that the Duchess had come, 
and that he could by no means prevent her entry. 
The truth of what he said was evident; Cousin 
Elizabeth herself was hard on his heels. She almost 
ran in, and made at me with wide-opened arms. 
Her honest face beamed with delight as she folded 
me in an enthusiastic embrace. Looking over her 
shoulder, I observed Baptiste standing in a respect- 
ful attitude, but struggling with a smile. 

“You can go, Baptiste,” said I, and he with- 
drew, smiling still. 

“ My dearest Augustin,” panted Cousin Eliza- 
beth, “ you have made us all very, very happy. It 
has been the dream of my life.” 

I forget altogether what my answer was, but her 
words struck sharp and clear on my mind. That 
phrase pursued me. It had been the dream of Max 
von Sempach’s life to be Ambassador. There had 
been a dream in his wife’s life. It was the dream of 
Coralie’s life to be a great singer ; hence came the 
impresario with his large locket and the rest. And 
now, quaintly enough, I was fulfilling somebody 
else’s dream of life — Cousin Elizabeth’s ! Perhaps 
I was fulfilling my own ; but my dream of life was 
a queer vision. 

“ So happy ! So happy ! ” murmured Cousin 
Elizabeth, seeking for her pocket-handkerchief. 
At the moment came another flurried entry of 
245 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


Baptiste. He was followed by my mother. Cousin 
Elizabeth disengaged herself from me. Princess 
Heinrich came to me with great dignity. I kissed 
her hand; she kissed my forehead. 

“Augustin,” she said, “you have made us all 
very happy.” 

The same note was struck in my mother’s stately 
acknowledgment and in Cousin Elizabeth’s gushing 
joy. I chimed in, declaring that the happiness I 
gave was as nothing to what I received. My 
mother appeared to consider this speech proper and 
adequate, Cousin Elizabeth was almost overcome 
by it. The letter which lay on the table, addressed 
to Varvilliers, was fortunately not endowed with 
speech. It would have jarred our harmony. 

Later in the day Victoria came to see me. I was 
sitting in the window, looking down on the river and 
across to the woods of W aldenweiter. She sat dow r n 
near me and smiled at me. Victoria carried with 
her an atmosphere of reality ; she neither harboured 
the sincere delusions of Cousin Elizabeth nor (save 
in public) sacrificed with my mother on the shrine 
of propriety. She sat there and smiled at me. 

“ My dear Victoria,” said I, “ I know all that as 
well as you do. Didn’t we go through it all before, 
when you married William Adolphus ? ” 

“ I’ve just left Elsa,” my sister announced. “ The 
child’s really half off her head ; she can’t grasp it yet.” 

“ She is excited, I suppose.” 

“ It seems that Cousin Elizabeth never let her 
count upon it.” 

“ I saw that she was pleased. It surprised me 
rather.” 

“ Don’t be a goose, Augustin,” said Victoria very 
crossly. “ Of course she’s pleased.” 

246 


GREAT PROMOTION 


“ But I don’t think she cares for me in the very 
least,” said I gravely. 

For a moment Victoria stared. Then she ob- 
served with a perfunctory politeness : 

“ Oh, you mustn’t say that. I’m sure she does.” 
She paused and added : 44 Of course it’s great pro- 
motion for her.” 

Great promotion ! I liked Victoria’s phrase very 
much. Of course it was great promotion for Elsa. 
No wonder she was pleased and danced in her walk; 
no wonder her eyes sparkled. Nay, it was small 
wonder that she felt a kindliness for the hand whence 
came this great promotion. 

“Yes, I suppose it is — what did you say? Oh, 
yes — great promotion,” said I to Victoria. 

44 Immense ! She was really a nobody before.” 

A hint of jealousy lurked in Victoria’s tones. 
Perhaps she did not like the prospect of being no 
longer at the head of Forstadt society. 

44 There’s nobody in Europe who would have re- 
fused you, I suppose,” she pursued. “Yes, she’s 
lucky with a vengeance.” 

I began to laugh. Victoria frowned a little, as 
though my laughter annoyed her. However I had 
my laugh out ; the picture of my position, sketched 
by Victoria, deserved that. Then I lit a cigarette 
and stood looking out of the window. 

44 Poor child ! ” said I. 44 How long will it last ?” 

Victoria made no answer. She sat where she was 
for a few moments ; then she got up, flung an arm 
round my neck, and gave me a brief business-like 
kiss. 

44 1 never knew anybody quite so good as you at 
being miserable,” she said. 

But I was not miserable. I was, on the whole, 
247 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


very considerably relieved. It would have been 
much worse had Elsa really manifested an absolute 
absorption in the tragic aspect. It was much bet- 
ter that her thoughts should be filled by her great 
promotion. 

I heard suddenly the sound of feet on the ter- 
race. A moment later loud cheers rang out. I 
looked down from the window. There was a throng 
of the household, stable, and garden servants gath- 
ered in front of the window of my mother’s room. 
On the steps before the window stood Elsa’s slim 
graceful figure. The throng cheered ; Elsa bowed, 
waved, and kissed her hand to them. They cried 
out good wishes and called blessings on her. Again 
she kissed her hand to them with pretty dignity. A 
pace behind her on either side stood Princess Hein- 
rich and Cousin Elizabeth. Elsa held the central 
place, and her little head was erect and proud. 

Poor dear child ! The great promotion had 
begun. 


248 


CHAPTER XX 


AN INTERESTING PARALLEL 

I had a whimsical desire that somebody, no mat- 
ter who, should speak the truth about the affair. 
That I myself should was out of the question, nor 
would candour be admissible from any of my fam- 
ily; even Victoria could do no more than kiss me. 
Elsa did not know the truth ; her realisation of it 
lay in the future — the future to me ever so present. 
Varvilliers would not tell it; his sincerity owned 
always the limit of politeness. I could not look to 
have my whim indulged ; perhaps had there seemed 
a chance of fulfilment I should have turned coward. 
Yet I do not know; the love of truth has been a 
constant and strong passion in my mind. Hence 
come my laborious trackings of it through mazes of 
moods and feelings ; painful trifling, I daresay. But 
my whim was accomplished ; why and under what 
motive’s spur it is hard to guess. 

I sent a message to the Chamber announcing my 
betrothal ; a debate on the answ T er to be returned 
followed. Here was a proper and solemn formality, 
rich in coloured phrases and time-honoured pre- 
tence. No lie was allowed place that could not 
prove its pedigree for five hundred years. Then 
when Bederhof and the rest had prated, there rose 
(O si audissem) a man with a pale- lined face, in 
which passion had almost destroyed mirth, or at 
least compelled it to put on the servile dress of bit- 
terness, but with eyes bright still and a voice that 
249 


THE KING S MIRROR 


rang through the Chamber. W etter was back, back 
from wounding me, back from his madness of Cora- 
lie, back from his obscure wanderings and his re- 
ported bank- breakings. Somewhere and somehow 
he had got money enough to keep him awhile ; and 
with money in his pocket he was again and at once 
a power in Forstadt. There must have been strange 
doings in that man’s soul, worthy of record ; but 
w T ho would be so bold as to take up the pen? His 
reappearance was remarkable enough. I asked 
whether he did what he did in malice, in a rivalry 
that our quarrel and our common defeat at the 
hands of the paunchy impresario could not wipe 
out, or whether he discerned that I should join in 
his acid laugh, and, as I read his speech, cry to my- 
self, “ Lo, here is truth and a man who tells it ! ” 
For he rose, there in the Chamber, when Beder- 
hof’s sticky syrup had ceased to flow. He spoke of 
my betrothal, sketching in a poet’s mood, with the 
art of an orator, that perfect love whereof men 
dream ; painting with exquisite skill the man’s hot 
exultation and the girl’s tremulous triumph, the 
spontaneous leap of heart to heart, the world with- 
out eclipsed and invisible ; the brightness, the glory, 
and the unquestioning confidence in their eternity. 
His voice rose victorious out of falterings ; his eyes 
gleamed with the vision that he made. Then, while 
still they wondered as men shown new things in 
their own hearts, his lips curved in a smile and his 
tones fell to a moderate volume. “ Such,” said he, 
“are the joys which our country shares with its 
King. Because they are his they are ours ; because 
they are his they are hers. Hers and his are they 
till their lives’ end ; ours while our hearts are worthy 
to conceive of them.” 


250 


AN INTERESTING PARALLEL 


They were silent when he sat down. He had 
outraged etiquette ; nobody had ever said that sort 
of thing before on such an occasion. Bederhof 
searched in vain through an exhaustive memoran- 
dum prepared in the Chancellery. He consulted 
the clerks. Nobody had ever said anything in 
the least like it. They were puzzled. It was all 
most excellent, most loyal, calculated to impress 
the people in the most favourable way. But, 
deuce take it, why did the man smile while he 
talked, and why did his voice change from a 
ring of a trumpet to the rasp of a file? The 
Chamber at large was rather upset by Wetter ’s 
oration. 

Ah, W etter, but you had an audience fit though 
small ! I read it — I read it all. I, in my study at 
Artenberg; I, alone. My mind leaped with yours; 
my lips bent to the curve of yours. Surely you 
spoke to please me, Wetter? To show that one 
man knew? To display plainest truth by the me- 
dium of a giant’s lies? I could interpret. The 
language was known to me ; the irony was after 
my own heart. 

“It’s dashed queer stuff,” said William Adolphus, 
scratching his head. “ All right in a story book, 
you know; but in the Chamber! Do you think 
he’s off his head ? ” 

“ I don’t think so, William Adolphus,” said I. 

“Victoria says it’s hardly — hardly decent, you 
know.” 

“ I shouldn’t call it exactly indecent.” 

“ No, not exactly indecent,” he admitted. “ But 
what the devil did he want to say it there for ? ” 

“Ah, that I can’t answer.” 

My brother-in-law looked discontented. Yet as 
251 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


a rule he resigned himself readily enough to not 
understanding things. 

“ Victoria says that Princess Heinrich requested 
the Duchess to manage that Elsa ” 

“My dear William Adolphus, the transaction 
sounds complicated.” 

“ Complicated ? What do you mean ? Princess 
Heinrich requested the Duchess not to let Elsa 
read it.” 

“ Ah, my mother has always good reasons.” 

“ But Elsa had read it already.” 

“ How unfortunate wisdom always is ! Did 
Elsa like it ? ” 

“ She told Victoria that it seemed great nonsense.” 

“ Yes, she would think so.” 

“ Well, it is, you know,” said William Adolphus. 

“ Of course it is, my dear fellow, ” said I. 

Yet I wanted to know more about it, and ob- 
serving that Varvilliers was stated to have been 
present in the Diplomatic Gallery, I sent for him 
to come to Artenberg and describe the speech as 
it actually passed. When I had sent my message 
I went forth in search of my fiancee . She had 
read the report already; my mother’s measures 
had been taken too late. What did pretty Elsa 
think? She thought it was all great nonsense. 
Poor pretty Elsa ! 

My heart was hungry. Wetter had broken — as 
surely he had meant to break — the sleep of memo- 
ry and the sense of contrast. I went to her not 
with love, but with some vague expectation, a sort 
of idea that, contrary to all likelihood, I might 
again have in some measure what had come to me 
before, springing now indeed not whence I would, 
but whence it could, yet being still itself though 
252 


AN INTERESTING PARALLEL 


grown in an alien soil. The full richness of native 
bloom it could not win, yet it might attain some 
pale grace and a fragrance of its own. For these 
I would compound and thank the malicious wit 
that gave them me. But she thought it all great 
nonsense; nay, that was only what she had told 
Victoria. My mother was wise, and my mother 
had requested that she should not read it. 

When I came to her she was uncertain and 
doubtful in mood. She did not refer to the speech, 
but a consciousness of it showed in her embarrass- 
ment and in the distrustful mirth of her eyes. She 
did not know how I looked upon it, nor how I 
would have her take it ; was she to laugh or to be 
solemn, to ridicule or to pretend with handsome 
ampleness? There were duties attached to her 
greatness ; was it among them to swallow this ? 
But she knew I liked to joke at some things which 
others found serious ; might she laugh with me at 
this extravagance ? 

“Well, you've read the debate?” I asked. 
“ They all said exactly the proper things.” 

“ Did they ? I didn’t know what the proper 
things were.” 

“ Oh, yes; except that mad fellow Wetter. It’s 
a sad thing, Elsa ; if only he weren’t a genius he’d 
have a great career.” 

She threw a timid questioning glance at me. 

“ Victoria says that he talked nonsense,” she re- 
marked. 

“ Victoria declares that it was you who said it.” 

“Well, I don’t know which of us said it first,” 
she laughed. “ Princess Heinrich said so too ; she 
said he must have been reading romances and gone 
mad, like Don Quixote.” 

17 253 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ You’ve read some ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, some. Of course, it’s different in a 
story.” 

So had observed William Adolphus. I marked 
Victoria as the common origin. 

46 You see,” said I tolerantly, “ he’s a man of very 
emotional nature. He’s carried away by his feel- 
ings, and he thinks other people are like himself.” 
And I laughed a little. 

Elsa also laughed, but still doubtfully. She 
seemed ill at ease. I found her venturing a swift 
stealthy glance at me ; there was something like 
fear in her eyes. I was curiously reminded of Vic- 
toria’s expression when she came to Krak with only 
a half of her exercise written, and mistrusted the 
validity of her excuse. (Indeed it was always a 
bad one.) What, then, had Wetter done for her? 
Had he not set up a hopeless standard of grim 
duty, frowning and severe ? My good sister had 
meant to be consolatory with her “great nonsense,” 
remembering, perhaps, the Baron over there at 
Waldenweiter. Elsa was looking straight before 
her now, her brows puckered. I glanced down at 
the hand in her lap and saw that it trembled a lit- 
tle. Suddenly she turned and found me looking ; 
she blushed vividly and painfully. 

“My dearest little cousin,” said I, taking her 
hand, “ don’t trouble your very pretty head about 
such matters. Men are not all Wetters; the fel- 
low’s a poet if only he knew it. Come, Elsa, you 
and I understand one another.” 

“You’re very kind to me,” she said. “And — 
and I’m very fond of you, Augustin.” 

“ It’s very charming of you, for there’s little 
enough reason.” 


254 


AN INTERESTING PARALLEL 


“ Victoria says several people have been.” She 
hazarded this remark with an obvious effort. I 
laughed at that. There was also a covert hint of 
surprise in her glance. Either she did not believe 
Victoria fully, or she was wondering how the thing 
had come about. Alas, she was so transparent ! I 
found myself caught by a momentary wish that I 
had chosen (as if I could choose, though !) a woman 
of the world, whose accomplished skill should baffle 
all my scrutiny and leave me still the consolations 
of uncertainty ; it is probable that such a one 
would have extorted from me a belief in her love 
for five minutes every day. Not for an instant 
could that delusion live with Elsa’s openness. Yet 
perhaps she would learn the trick, and I watch her 
mastery of it in the growth. But at least she 
should not learn it on my requisition. 

Elsa sat silent, but presently a slight meditative 
smile came on her lips and made a little dimple in 
her chin. Her thoughts were pleasant then; no 
more of that grim impossible duty. Had W etter’s 
wand conjured any other idea into her mind ? Had 
his picture another side for her imagination ? It 
seemed possible enough ; it may well have seemed 
possible to Princess Heinrich when she requested 
that Elsa should not read the speech. Princess 
Heinrich may have preferred that such notions 
should not be suggested at all under the circum- 
stances of the case. There was always a meaning 
in what Princess Heinrich did. 

“ What are you thinking of, Elsa ? ” 

“ Nothing,” she answered with a little start. “Is 
he a young man ? ” 

“ Y ou mean Wetter ? ” 

“ Yes.” 


255 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ Oh, a few years over thirty. But he’s made 
the most of his time in the world. The most, not 
the best, I mean, you know.” 

Her thoughts had been on Wetter and Wetter ’s 
words. Since she had smiled I concluded that my 
guess was not far off. Elsa turned to me with a 
blush and the coquettish air that now and then sat 
so prettily on her innocence. 

4 4 1 should think he might have made love rather 
well,” she said. 

44 1 shouldn’t wonder in the least,” said I. 44 But 
he might be a little tempestuous.” 

44 Yes,” Elsa acquiesced. 44 And that wouldn’t 
be nice, would it ? ” 

44 Not at all nice,” said I, and laughed. Elsa 
joined in my laugh, but doubtfully and reluctantly, 
as though she had but a dim glimmer of the reason 
for it. Then she turned to me with a sudden 
radiant smile. 

44 Fancy ! ” said she. 44 Mother says I must have 
forty frocks.” 

44 My dear,” said I, 44 have four hundred.” 

44 But isn’t it a lot ? ” 

44 1 suppose it is,” I remarked. 44 But have any- 
thing you ought to have. You like the frocks, 
Elsa? ” 

She gave that little emphatic double nod of 
hers. 

We talked no more of the frocks then, but dur- 
ing the few days which followed Elsa’s perusal of 
Wetter’s speech there was infinite talk of frocks 
and all the rest of the furnishings and appurtenances 
of Elsa’s new rank. The impulse which moved 
women so different as my mother, the Duchess, 
and Victoria, to a common course of conduct was 
256 


AN INTERESTING PARALLEL 

doubtless based on an universal womans instinct. 
All the three seemed to set themselves to dazzle 
the girl with the glories and pomp that awaited 
her; at the same time William Adolphus became 
pressing in his claims on my company. Now Vic- 
toria never really supposed that I desired to spend 
my leisure with William Adolphus ; she set him in 
motion when she had reason to believe that I had 
better not spend it with some other person. So it 
had been in the days of the Countess and in Cora- 
lie’s epoch ; so it was now. The idea was obvious ; 
just at present it was better for Elsa to think of 
her glories than to be too much with me ; she was 
to be led to the place of sacrifice with a bandage 
over her eyes, a bandage that obscured the con- 
trasted visions of Wetter’s imagination and of my 
actual self. I saw their plan and appreciated it, 
but seeing did not forbid yielding. I was not 
hoodwinked, but neither was I stirred to resistance. 
It seemed to me then that kindness lay in not ob- 
truding myself upon her, in being as little with her 
as courtesy and appearances allowed, in asking the 
smallest possible amount of her thoughts and mak- 
ing the least possible claim on her life. They 
asked me to efface myself, to court oblivion, to 
hide behind the wardrobe. It was all done with 
a soothing air, as though it were a temporary 
necessity, as though with a little patience the 
mood would pass, almost as though Elsa had 
some little ailment which would disappear in a few 
days; while it lasted, men were best out of the 
way, and would show delicacy by asking no ques- 
tions. The way in which women act, look, and 
speak, when they desire to create that impression, 
is clear and unmistakable ; a wise man goes about 
257 


THE KING S MIRROR 

his business or retires to his smoking-room, his 
papers, and his books. 

The treatment seemed to answer well, and its se- 
verity was gradually relaxed. William Adolphus, 
sighing relief I doubt not (for I was well-nigh as 
tedious to him as he to me), went off to his horses. 
I was again encouraged to be more with Elsa, under 
a caution to say nothing that could excite her. She 
met me with a quiet gay contentment, seemed 
pleased to be with me, and was profuse and sincere 
in thanks for my kindness. Sometimes now she 
talked of our life after we were married, when 
Princess Heinrich would be gone and we alone to- 
gether. She was occupied with innocent wonder- 
ings how we should get on, and professed an 
anxiety lest she should fail in keeping me amused. 
Then she would take refuge in reminding herself 
of her many and responsible duties. She would 
have nearly as much to do as I had, she said, and 
was not her work really almost as important as 
mine ? 

“ Princess Heinrich says that the social influence 
I shall wield is just as important to the welfare of 
the country,” she would say, with that grave in- 
quiring look in her pretty blue eyes. 

“All the fashionable folk in Forstadt will think 
it much more important, ” said I, laughing. “ Es- 
pecially the young men, Elsa.” 

“ As if I should care about that ! ” she cried 
scornfully. 

Now and then, at intervals, while I talked to her, 
the idea of doing what my mother had meant by 
exciting her came into my head, the idea of satisfy- 
ing her unconscious longings and of fulfilling for 
her the dream which had taken shape under the 
258 


AN INTERESTING PARALLEL 

wand of that magician Wetter. I believed then 
that I could have succeeded in the task ; there may 
be vanity in that opinion, but neither lapse of time 
nor later experience has brought me to renounce 
it. Why, then, did I yield to the women’s pre- 
scription, and renounce the idea of gaining and 
chaining her love and her fancy for myself? Noth- 
ing in her gives the answer to that question; it 
must be sought in my mind and my temper. I 
believed and I believe that if I could have stirred 
myself I could have stirred her. The claim is not 
great ; W etter had done half the work for me, and 
nature was doing the better part of the rest. I 
should have started with such an advantage that 
the battle must have been mine. This is not 
merely perceived in retrospect ; it was tolerably 
clear to me even at the time. But the impulse in 
me was wanting. I could have won, but I did not 
truly desire to win. I could have given what she 
asked, but my own heart was a niggard. It was 
from me more than from her that the restraint 
came; it was with me to move, and I could not 
stir. She was lovable, but I did not love her ; she 
had love to give, but I could not ask for it. To 
marry her was my duty, to seem to desire the mar- 
riage my role . There obligation stopped ; inclina- 
tion refused to carry on the work. I had driven 
a bargain with fate ; I would pay the debt to the 
last farthing, but I could not open my purse again 
for a gratuity or a bounty. I acquiesced with fair 
contentment in it, and in the relations which it 
produced between Elsa and myself. There was 
a tacit agreement among all of us that a calm and 
cousinly affection was the best thing, and fully ad- 
equate to the needs of the situation. The advice 
259 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


of the women chimed in with my own mood. 
Making love to her would have seemed to them a 
dangerous indiscretion, to me a rather odious tak- 
ing advantage of one who was not a free agent, and 
a rather humiliating bit of pretence besides. We 
had all made up our minds that matters had better 
be left considerably below boiling-point. 

While things stood thus I received a letter from 
Varvilliers (who was at Forstadt) accepting my in- 
vitation to Artenberg. His acceptance signified, 
he went on : 

4 4 Of course all the town is full of you and your 
fiancee — her portrait is everywhere, your name and 
hers in every mouth. There is another coupled 
with them, surely in a strange conjunction ! 
When they speak of you and the Princess they 
speak of Wetter also. It is recalled that you and 
he were friends and associates, companions in 
amusement and sport (especially, of course, in 
pistol practice !). Hence springs a theory that the 
fellow’s odd rhapsody (mad and splendid !) was 
directly inspired by yourself, that you chose him 
as your medium, desiring to add to the formal ex- 
pressions usual on such occasions an unofficial 
declaration of your private feelings. So you are 
hailed as a model and most romantic lover, and 
every tea-table resounds with your praises. Early 
indiscretions (forgive a pen itself indiscreet) are 
forgotten, and you are booked for the part of the 
model husband, an example of the beauty (and the 
duty) of marriages of inclination in high places. 
Believe me, your popularity is doubled. And the 
strange fellow himself, having money in his pocket 
and that voice of his in magnificent order, is to be 
260 


AN INTERESTING PARALLEL 


seen everywhere, smiling mysteriously and observ- 
ing a most significant reticence when he is pressed 
to say that he spoke at your request and to your 
pattern. But for your Majesty’s own letters I 
should not have ventured to be a dissenter from 
the received opinion; if you bid me, at any mo- 
ment I will gladly renounce my heresy and em- 
brace the orthodox faith. Meanwhile I am won- 
dering what imp holds sway in W etter’s brain ; 
and I am laughing a little at this new example of 
the eternal antagonism between what is the truth 
and what is thought to be the truth. If mankind 
ever stumbled on absolute naked verity, what the 
devil would they make of it ? By the way, I hear 
that Coralie is to make her debut in Paris in a 
week or two. She being now reputably impre- 
sarioed, the Sempachs have shown her some civility. 
I told Wetter this when I last ran against him at 
the club. He raised his brows, twisted his lips, 
scratched his chin, looked full in my face and said 
with a smile, ‘My dear Vicomte, Madame Man- 
son i is passionately attached to her husband. 
They are ideal lovers.’ Your Majesty shall in- 
terpret, if it be your pleasure. I leave the matter 
alone.” 

This fellow Wetter was very impertinent with 
his speeches and his parallels. But, good heavens, 
he had eyes to see ! Madame Mansoni and her 
impresario were ideal lovers! Surely the world 
was grown young again! Elsa also made her 
debut in a few weeks ; I was her impresario. And 
she was passionately attached to her impresario ! 
I lay back in my chair, laughing and wishing with 
all mv heart that I could have a talk with Wetter. 

261 


CHAPTER XXI 


ON THE ART OF FALLING SOFT 

The economy of belief which wisdom practices 
forbids us to embrace fanciful theories where com- 
monly observed facts will serve our turn. They 
talk now about strange communications of mind 
to mind, my thought speaking to yours a thousand 
miles away. Perhaps ; or perhaps there is a new 
fashion in ghost stories. In any case there was no 
need of these speculations to account for Wetter 
being near me at the very time when I was long- 
ing for his presence. From the moment I read 
his speech I knew that he was thinking of me; 
that my doings were stuff for his meditations; 
that his mind entered into mine, read its secrets, 
and was audience to all its scenes. Is not the de- 
sire to meet, at least to see, the natural sequence 
of such an interest and such a preoccupation? 
Given the wish, what was simpler than its gratifi- 
cation ? He need ask no leave from me, and need 
run no risk of my rebuff or of Princess Heinrich’s 
stiffness. He knew all the world of Forstadt. 
From favour or fear every door opened when he 
knocked at it. He knew, among the rest, Vic- 
toria’s Baron over at Walden weiter. From no 
place could he better observe the King. Nowhere 
else was it so easy for a man to meet the King. 
He came to Walden weiter ; I jumped to the con- 
clusion that to be near me was his only object. 
By a stableman’s chance remark, overheard as I 
262 


ON THE ART OF FALLING SOFT 


was looking at my horses, I learned of his presence 
on the morning of the day when Varvilliers was to 
arrive at Artenberg. We were coming together 
again, we three who had met last for pistol practice 
in the Garden Pavilion. 

About two o’clock I went out alone and got 
into my canoe. It was a beautiful day ; no excuse 
was needed for a lounge on the water. I paddled 
up and down leisurely, wondering how soon the 
decoy would bring my bird. A quarter of an 
hour proved enough. I saw him saunter down to 
the water’s edge. He perceived me, lifted his soft 
hat, and bowed. I shot across the space between, 
and brought the canoe up to the edge of the level 
lawn that bordered on the river. 

44 Why, what brings you here ? ” I cried. 

His lips curved in a smile, as he replaced his hat 
in obedience to a sign from me. 

44 A passion for the Baroness, sire,” said he. 

44 Ah, that’s only a virtuous pretence,” I laughed. 
“ You’ve a less creditable motive ? ” 

“ Why, possibly ; but who tells his less creditable 
motives?” 

I looked at him curiously and attentively. He 
had grown older, the hair by his ears was gray, and 
life had ploughed furrows on his face. 

44 Well,” said I, 44 a man might do even that who 
talks romance to the Chamber.” 

He gave a short laugh as he lit his cigarette. 

“ Your Majesty has done me the honour of read- 
ing what I said? ” 

“ I am told that I suggested it. So runs the gos- 
sip in town, doesn’t it ? ” 

4 4 And your opinion on it ? ” 

44 1 think I won’t expose myself to your fire 
263 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


again,” said I. “It was careless last time; it 
would be downright folly now. ” 

“ Then we are to say no more about it ? ” he 
asked gravely. 

“ Not a word. Tell me, how came you to know 
that Coralie loves her impresario? You told Var- 
villiers so.” 

His lips twitched for a moment, but he answered, 
smiling : 

“ Because she has married him.” 

“ I heard something of ambition in the case, of 
her career demanding the sacrifice.” 

“ A slander, sire, depend on it. It is said in envy 
of her good fortune.” 

“ Come, come, you love the Baroness so much, 
that you must have all the world in love.” 

“ Indeed I can think of nobody more in love 
than I am.” 

“ Think of me, Wetter.” 

“ As though your Majesty could ever be absent 
from my thoughts,” said he with a bow, a wave of 
his cigarette, and a smile. 

I laughed outright in sheer enjoyment of his 
sword-play. 

“ And since we parted where have you been ? ” I 
asked. 

“ I have walked through hell, in such company 
as the place afforded,” he answered, with a shrug 
that spoke ill for hells resources. 

“ And you’ve come out the other side ? ” 

“ Is there another side ? ” 

“ Then you’re still there ? ” 

“ Upon my word I don’t know. It’s so like other 
places — except that I picked up money there.” 

“ I heard that.” 


264 


ON THE ART OF FALLING SOFT 


“ My resurrection made it obvious.” 

A silence fell on both of us ; then our eyes met, 
and he smiled kindly. 

“ I knew you meant the speech for me,” I said. 

“ I was not entitled to congratulate you offi- 
cially.” 

“You have raised a mountain of misconception 
about me in Forstadt,” I complained. 

“ A mountain-top is a suitable regal seat, and 
perhaps the only safe one.” 

“ Won’t you speak plainly to me? ” 

“Yes, if it’s your pleasure.” 

“ I have least of it of any pleasure in the world.” 

“ Well, then, the Countess von Sempach grows 
no younger.” 

“No?” 

“ And Coralie Mansoni has married her impre- 
sario.” 

“ I know it.” 

“ And my hair is gray, and your eyes are open.” 

We both laughed and fell again to smoking in 
silence. At last I spoke. 

“ Her hair is golden and her eyes are shut,” said 
I. “ Why did you try to open them ? ” 

“ Wasn’t it to look on a fine sight ? ” 

“ But you knew that the sight wasn’t there.” 

“ She looked ? ” 

“ For an instant. Then they turned her head 
the other way.” 

“ It was pure devilry in me. You should have 
seen the Chamber ! Good God ! Bederhof, now ! ” 

His eyes twinkled merrily, and my laugh an- 
swered their mirth. 

“ One can always laugh,” said I with a shrug. 

“It was invented for the world before the Fall, 
265 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


and they forgot to take it away afterward,” he said. 
“ But you ? You take things seriously ? ” 

44 What I have to do, yes.” 

44 But what you have to feel ? ” 

44 In truth I am not even there a consistent 
laugher.” 

“ Nor I, or we shouldn’t talk so much about it. 
Look at Varvilliers. Does he laugh on a theory ? ” 

“ He’s coming to Artenberg to-day. There at 
least he’ll laugh without any effort. Are you stay- 
ing here long ? ” 

44 No, sire. One scene of despair, and I depart.” 

“ I should like to see you oftener.” 

44 Why not ? You are finally, and I for the 
time, respectable. Why not, while my money 
lasts ? ” 

44 I have money of yours.” 

44 You have more than money of mine.” 

He looked me in the face and held out his hand. 
I grasped it firmly. 

44 Are you making a fool of this Baroness ? ” I 
asked. 

44 Don’t be afraid. She’s making one of me. 
She is very happy and content. I am born to 
make women happy.” 

I laughed again. He was whimsically resigned 
to his temperament, but the mischief had not 
touched his brain. Then the Baroness’ hold on 
him was not like Coralie Mansoni’s ; he would 
fight no duel for her. He would only make a fool 
of the greatest man in Forstadt. That feat was 
always so easy to him. 

44 Well,” he said, 44 1 must return to my misery.” 

44 And I to my happiness,” said I. 44 But you’ll 
come to Artenberg ? ” 

266 


ON THE ART OF FALLING SOFT 


“ It’s Princess Heinrich’s house,” he objected 
with a smile. 

“ For the time, yes. Then come to me at For- 
stadt.” 

“ Yes; unless I have disappeared again.” 

He put his hand on the bows of my canoe and 
thrust me out into the stream. Then he stood bar- 
ing his head and crumpling up the soft hat in his 
fist. I noticed now that his hair was gray all over 
his head. He resumed his hat, put his hands in his 
pockets, and waited without moving, till I turned 
my back to him. Having reached the opposite 
bank, I looked round. He was there still. I 
waved my hand to him; he returned the signal. 
Then we both began to climb the hill, I to Arten- 
berg, he to Walden weiter ; he to his misery, I to 
my happiness. And — which is better, who knows? 
At any rate the Baroness was pleased. 

I mounted through the woods slowly, although 
I had been detained longer than I expected, and 
was already too late to greet Varvilliers on his ar- 
rival. As I came near the terrace I heard the ring 
of merry voices. The ladies and gentlemen of the 
household were all there, making a brave and gay 
group. In the centre I saw my family and Elsa. 
Varvilliers himself was standing by Princess Hein- 
rich’s side, talking fast and with great animation. 
Bursts of glad laughter marked his points. There 
was not a hint of care nor a touch of bitterness. 
Here was no laughing on a theory, as Wetter 
called it, but a simple enjoyment, a whole-hearted 
acceptance of the world’s good hours. Were they 
not nearer truth? Were they not, at least, nearer 
wisdom? A reaction came on me. In a sudden 
moment a new resolve entered my head ; again 
267 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


Varvilliers roused the impulse that he had power 
to rouse in me. I would make trial of this mode 
of living and test this colour of mind. I had been 
thinking about life when I might have been exult- 
ing in it. I ran forward to the group, and, as they 
parted to let me through, I came quickly to Var- 
villiers with outstretched hands. He seemed to 
me a good genius. Even my mother looked smil- 
ing and happy. The faces of the rest were alight 
with gaiety. Victoria was in the full tide of a 
happy laugh, and did not interrupt it on account 
of my arrival. Elsa’s lips were parted in a smile 
that was eager and wondering. Her eyes sparkled ; 
she clasped her hands and nodded to me in a deli- 
cious surprised merriment. I caught Varvilliers by 
the arm and made him sit by me. A cry arose 
that he should repeat the last story for the King’s 
benefit. He complied at once, and launched on 
some charming absurdity. Renewed applause 
greeted the story’s point. A rivalry arose who 
should cap it with a better. The contact of brains 
struck sparks. Every man was wittier than his 
wont; every woman more radiant. What the 
plague had I and Wetter been grumbling and 
snarling at down there on the river ? 

The impulse lasted the evening out. After din- 
ner we fell to dancing in the long room that faced 
the gardens. My mother and the Duchess retired 
early, but the rest of us set the hours at defiance 
and revelled far on into the night. It was as though 
a new spirit had come to Artenberg ; the very ser- 
vants wore broad grins as they bustled about, seem- 
ing to declare that here at last was something like 
what a youthful king’s court should be. William 
Adolphus was boisterous, Victoria forgot that she 
268 


ON THE ART OF FALLING SOFT 


was learned and a patroness of the arts, Elsa threw 
herself into the fun with the zest and abandonment 
of a child. I vied with Varvilliers himself, seeking 
to wrest from him the title of master of the revels. 
He could not stand against me. A madman may 
be stronger than the finest athlete. No native tem- 
per could vie with my foreign mood. 

Suddenly I knew that I could do to-night what 
I had vainly tried to do ; that to-night, for to-night 
at least, I felt something of what I desired to feel. 
The blood ran free in my veins ; if I did not love 
her, yet I loved love, and for love’s sake would love 
Elsa. If to-night the barrier between us could be 
broken down, it need never rise again ; the vision, 
so impossible a few hours before, seemed now a 
faint reflection of what must soon be reality. I 
looked round for her, but I could not see her. I 
started to walk across the room, threading my way 
through the merry company, who danced no longer, 
but stood about in groups, bandying chaff and 
compliments. Engrossed with one another, they 
hardly remembered to give me passage. Presently 
I came on William Adolphus, making himself very 
agreeable to one of his wife’s ladies. 

“ Have you seen Elsa ? ” I asked him. 

“ What, you’ve remembered your duty at last, 
have you ? ” he cried, with a burst of laughter. 

“No; I believe I’ve forgotten it at last,” I an- 
swered. 4 4 Where is she ? ” 

44 1 saw her with Varvilliers on the steps outside 
the window.” 

I turned in the direction which he indicated, and 
stepped out through the open window. Day was 
dawning ; I could make out the gray shape of W al- 
denweiter. Was the scene of despair played there 
18 269 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


yet? I gave but a passing thought to old Wetter, 
his mad doings and wry reflections. I was hot on 
another matter, and, raising my voice, I called, 
“ Varvilliers ! Where are you, Varvilliers? ” 

“ I am not Varvilliers, but here I am,” came in 
answer from across the terrace. 

“ Wetter ! ” I whispered, running down the steps 
and over to where he stood. “ What brings you 
here ? ” 

“ I couldn’t sleep. I saw your lights and I rowed 
across. I’ve been here for an hour.” 

“You should have come in.” 

“No. I have been very well here, in the fringe 
of the trees.” 

“ You have had your scene ? ” 

“ No ; he would not sleep after dinner. Early 
to-morrow ! And then I go. Enough of that. I 
have seen your Princess.” 

“You have? Wetter, I am in love with her. 
Tell me where she went. She has suddenly become 
all that I want. I have suddenly become all that 
I ought to be. Tell me where she is, Wetter ! ” 

“ It is not your Princess ; it is the dance, the wine, 
the night.” 

“ By God, I don’t care what it is.” 

“ Well, then, she’s with Varvilliers, at the end of 
the terrace, I imagine ; for they passed by here as 
I lay in my hole watching.” 

“ But he would have heard my cry.” 

“ It depends upon what other sounds were in his 
ears. They seemed very happy together.” 

I saw that he rallied me. I smiled, answering: 

“ I’m not in the mood for another duel.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, and then caught me 
by the hand. 


270 


ON THE ART OF FALLING SOFT 


“Come, let’s slink along,” he said. “We may 
get a sight of them.” 

“ I can’t do that.” 

“No? Perhaps you can’t. Walk up to them, 
send him away, and make your love to her. I’ll 
wait for you here. You’ll like to see me before 
the night’s out.” 

I looked at him for a moment. 

“ Shall I like to see you ? ” I asked. 

“Yes,” he answered. “The olive after the 
sweets.” He laughed, not bitterly, I thought, but 
ruefully. 

“ So be it,” I said. 44 Stay here.” 

I started off, but he had laid a cold hand on my 
heart. I was to want him ; then I should be no 
lover, for a lover wants but one. Yet I nerved 
myself and cried again loudly, 44 Varvilliers ! ” This 
time I was answered. I saw him and Elsa com- 
ing toward me ; his voice sounded merry and care- 
less as he shouted, 4 4 Here I am, sire ” ; a moment 
later they stood before me. No, there was no 
ground for Wetter’s hint, and could be none. Both 
were merely happy and gay, both utterly unembar- 
rassed. 

“Somebody wants you inside, Varvilliers,” said 
I, with a nod. 

He laughed, bowed gracefully to Elsa, and ran 
off. He took his dismissal without a sign of grudge. 
I turned to her. 

44 Oh, dear,” she said with a little yawn, 44 I’m 
tired. It must be very late.” 

I caught her by both hands. 

44 Late ! ” I cried. 4 4 Not too late, Elsa ! ” I bent 
down and kissed both her hands. 44 Why did you 
run away ? ” I asked. 


271 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ I didn’t know you wanted me, ” she said in a 
sort of wonder. 

I looked full in her eyes, and I knew that there 
was in mine the look that declares love and asks for 
it. If her eyes answered, the vision might be reality. 
I pressed her hands hard. She gave a little cry, the 
sparkle vanished from her eyes, and their lids 
drooped. Yet a little colour came in her cheeks 
and the gray dawn showed it me. I hailed it with 
eagerness and with misgiving. I thought of W et- 
ter waiting there among the trees, waiting till the 
moment when I wanted him. 

“ Do you love me, Elsa ? ” I asked. 

The colour deepened on her cheeks. I waited 
to see whether her eyes would rise again to mine ; 
they remained immovable. 

“ You know I’m very fond of you,” she mur- 
mured. 

“ But do you love me ? ” 

“ Yes, of course I love you. Please let my hands 
go, Augustin.” 

If Wetter were listening, he must have smiled at 
the peal of laughter that rang out from me over 
the terrace. I could not help it. Elsa started 
violently as I loosed her hands ; now she looked 
up at me with frightened eyes that swam in tears. 
Her lips moved ; she tried to speak to me. I was 
full of brutal things and had a horrible longing to 
say them to her. There was a specious justice in 
them veneering their cruelty ; I am glad to say 
that I gave utterance to none of them. We were 
both in the affair, and he is a poor sort of vil- 
lain who comforts himself by abusing his accom- 
plice. 

You’re tired ? ” I asked gently. 

272 


ON THE ART OF FALLING SOFT 


“ Very. But it has been delightful. M. de Var- 
villiers has been so kind.” 

“ He’s a delightful fellow, Varvilliers. Come, 
let me take you in, and we’ll send these madcaps 
to bed.” 

She put her hand on my arm in a friendly trust- 
ful fashion, and I found her eyes fixed on mine 
with a puzzled regretful look. We walked most 
of the way along the terrace before she spoke. 

“ You’re not angry with me, Augustin ? ” 

“ Good heavens, no, my dear,” said I. 

“ I’m very fond of you,” she said again as we 
reached the window. 

At last they were ready for bed — all save my- 
self. I watched them as they trooped away, Elsa 
on Victoria’s arm. Varvilliers came up to me, smil- 
ing in the intervals that he snatched from a series 
of yawns. 

, ” 1 aid. “ You surpassed 



Go to bed, my 


<< 


friend.” 


“ And you ? ” 

“ Presently. I’m not sleepy yet.” 

“ Marvellous ! ” said he, with a last laugh and a 
last yawn. 

For a few moments I stood alone in the room. 
There were no servants about ; they had given up 
waiting for us, and the lights were to burn at Ar- 
tenberg till the hour of rising. I lit a cigarette 
and went out on the terrace again. I had no 
doubt that Wetter would keep his tryst. I was 
right ; he was there. 

“Well, how did you speed?” he asked with a 
smile. 


273 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


“ Marvellously well,” said I. 

He took hold of the lapels of my coat and looked 
at me curiously. 

“ Your love scene was short,” he said. 

“ Perhaps. It was long enough.” 

“ To do what ? ” 

“ To define the situation.” 

“ Did it need definition ? ” 

“ I thought so half an hour ago.” 

“ Ah, well, the evening has been a strange one, 
hasn’t it ? ” 

“ Let’s walk down to the river through the 
woods,” said I. “ I’ll put you across to Walden- 
weiter.” 

He acquiesced, and I put my arm through his. 
Presently he said in a low voice : 

“ The dance, the wine, the night.” 

“Yes, yes, I know,” I cried. “My God, I 
knew even when I spoke to her. She saw that a 
brute asked her, not a man.” 

“ Perhaps, perhaps not ; they don’t see every- 
thing. She shrank from you ? ” 

“ The tears were very ready.” 

“ Ah, those tears ! Heavens, why have we no 
such appeals ? What matter, though ? You don’t 
love her.” 

“ Do you want me to call myself a brute again ? 
Wetter, any other girl would have been free to 
tell me that I was a brute.” 

“ Why, no. No man is free even to tell you that 
you’re a fool, sire. The divinity hedges you.” 

I laughed shortly and bitterly. What he said was 
true enough. 

“ There is, however, nothing to prevent you from 
seeing these things for yourself, just as though you 
274 


ON THE ART OF FALLING SOFT 


were one of the rest of us,” he pursued. “ Ah, 
here’s the river. You’ll row me across ? ” 

“ Yes. Get into the boat there.” 

We got in, and I pulled out into mid-stream. 
It was almost daylight now, but there was still a 
grayness in the atmosphere that exactly matched 
the tint of Wetter’s face. Noticing this suddenly 
I pointed it out to him, laughing violently. 

“You are Lucifer, Son of the Morning,” I cried. 
“ How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, 
Son of Morning ! ” 

“ I wouldn’t care for that if I had the trick of 
falling soft, ” said he. “ Learn it, O King, learn it ! 
On what padded bed falls William Adolphus! ” 

My laugh broke again through the morning loud 
and harsh. Then I laid myself to the oars, and we 
shot across to the bank of Waldenweiter. He 
shook my hand and sprang out lightly. 

“ I must change my clothes and have my scene, 
and then to F orstadt, ’ ’ said he. “ Good-day to you, 
sire. Yet remember the lesson of the moralist. 
Learn to fall soft, learn to fall soft.” With a smile 
he turned away, and again I watched him mount 
the slope of W aldenweiter. 

In such manner, on that night at Artenberg, did 
I, having no wings to soar to heaven and no key 
wherewith to open the door of it, make to myself, 
out of dance, wine, night, and what not, a ladder, 
mount thereby, and twist the door-handle. But 
the door was locked, the ladder broke, and I fell 
headlong. Nor do I doubt that many men are 
my masters in that art of falling soft. 


275 


CHAPTER XXII 


UT PUTO, VESTIS FIO 

The next morning all Artenberg had the air of 
being rather ashamed of itself. Styrian traditions 
had been set at naught. Princess Heinrich consid- 
ered that the limits of becoming mirth had been 
overstepped ; the lines of her mouth had their most 
downward set. Nothing was said because the King 
had led the dance, but disgrace was in the atmos- 
phere. We had all fallen from heaven — one may 
mean many things by heaven — and landed with 
more or less severity, according to the resources of 
padding with which Nature furnished us. To Var- 
villiers’ case, indeed, the metaphor is inadequate; 
he had a parachute, sailed to earth gaily with never 
a bruise, and was ready to mount again had any of 
us offered to bear him company. His invitation, 
given with a heartiness that mocked his bidden 
companions, found no acceptance. W e were all for 
our own planet in the morning. It was abundantly 
clear that revels must be the exception at Arten- 
berg. Victoria was earnestly of this opinion. In 
the first place, the physical condition of William 
Adolphus was deplorable ; he leered rueful roguish- 
ness out of bilious eyes, and Victoria could not en- 
dure the sight of him ; secondly, she was sure that 
I had said something — what she did not know, but 
something — to Elsa ; for Elsa had been found cry- 
ing over her coffee in bed in the morning. 

“ And every word you say to her now is of such 
276 


UT PUTO, VESTIS FIO 


supreme importance,” Victoria observed, standing 
over my writing-table. 

I took my cigarette out of my mouth and an- 
swered perversely enough, but with an eye to truth 
all the same. 

“Nothing that I say to her now is of the very 
least importance, Victoria.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” she cried. 

“Much what you do,” I rejoined, and fell to 
smoking again. 

Victoria began to walk about the room. I en- 
dured patiently. My eyes were fixed on Walden- 
weiter. I wondered idly whether the scene of de- 
spair had been enacted yet. 

“ It’s not the smallest good making ourselves un- 
happy about it,” Victoria announced, just as she was 
on the turn at the other end of the room. 

“Not the smallest,” I agreed. 

“ It’s much too late.” 

“ A great deal too late.” 

Victoria darted down and kissed my cheek. 

“ After all, she ought to think herself very lucky,” 
she decided. “ I’m sure everybody else considers 
her so. ” 

“Under such circumstances,” said I, “it’s sheer 
perversity in her to have her own feelings on the 
matter.” 

“ But you said something that upset her last 
night,” remarked my sister, with a return to the 
point which I hoped she had lost sight of. This 
time I lowered my guard in surrender. 

“ Certainly. I tried to make love to her,” said I. 

“ There, you see ! ” she cried reproachfully. Her 
censure of the irrelevant intrusion of such a subject 
was eloquent and severe. 

277 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


“ It was all Wetter’s fault,” I remarked, sighing. 

“ Good gracious ! what’s it got to do with W et- 
ter ? I hate the man ! ” As she spoke her eyes 
fell on a box which stood on my writing-table. 
“What’s that? ” she asked. 

“ Diamonds,” I answered. “ The necklace for 
Elsa.” 

“ You bought the big one you spoke of? Oh, 
Augustin, how fortunate ! ” 

I looked up at Victoria and smiled. 

“ My dear Victoria,” said I, “it is the finger of 
Providence. I’ll present them to her after luncheon. ” 

“ Yes, do ; and mind you don’t upset her again.” 

Alas! I had no desire to “upset” her again. 
The fit had passed; my only relations toward it 
were those of an astonished spectator or a baffled 
analyst. It was part of the same mood that had 
converted Artenberg into a hall of revelry, of most 
unwonted revelry. But to-day, with Princess Hein- 
rich frowning, heaven at a discount, and everybody 
rather ashamed of themselves, was it likely that I 
should desire to upset her again ? The absence of 
any such wish, combined with the providential dia- 
monds, would (it might reasonably be hoped) re- 
store tranquillity to Elsa. Victoria was quite of 
this optimistic opinion. 

Our interview was interrupted by the arrival of 
Bederhof, who came to take my final commands 
with regard to the marriage arrangements. The 
whole programme was drawn out neatly on a sort 
of chart (minus the rocks and shoals, of course). 
The Duchess and her daughter were to stay at Ar- 
tenberg for another week ; it would then be the end 
of August. On the 1st of September they would 
reach home, remain there till the 1st of October, 
278 


UT PUTO, VESTIS FIO 


when they and the Duke would set out for For- 
stadt ; they were to make their formal entry on 
the 4th, and on the 12th (a week being allowed for 
repose, festivities, and preparations) the marriage 
would be solemnised ; in the evening of that day 
Elsa and I were to come back to Artenberg to pass 
the first days of our married life. 

“ I hope your Majesty approves ? ” said Bederhof. 

“ Perfectly,” said I. “ Let us go and find the 
Princess. Hers must be the decisive word ; ” and 
with my programme in one hand and my diamonds 
in the other I repaired to the Duchess’ room, 
Bederhof following in high contentment. 

I imagine that there must have been a depression 
in my looks, involuntary but reassuring. It is cer- 
tain that Elsa received me with more composure 
than 1 had ventured to hope. She studied Beder- 
hof ’s chart with grave attention ; she and her mother 
put many questions as to the ceremonial; there 
was no doubt that Elsa was very much interested 
in the matter. Presently my mother came in ; the 
privy council round Bederhof grew more engrossed. 
The Chancellor was delighted; one could almost 
see the flags and hear the cannon as his descriptive 
periods rolled out. Princess Heinrich sat listening 
with a rather bitter smile, but she did not cut him 
short. I leaned over the back of her chair. Once 
or twice Elsa glanced at me, timidly but by no 
means uncheerfully. Behind the cover of the chair- 
back I unfastened my box and got out my necklace. 
Then I waited for Elsa’s next look. It seemed en- 
tirely in keeping with the occasion that I, as well 
as Bederhof, should have my present for her, my 
ornament, my toy. 

“ Their Majesties’ carriage will be drawn by four 
279 


THE KING S MIRROR 


gray horses,” said Bederhof. The good Duchess 
laughed, laid her hand on Elsa’s, and whispered, 
“ Their Majesties ! ” Elsa blushed, laughed, and 
again glanced at me. My moment had come. I 
held up my toy. 

“ Their Majesties will be dressed in their very 
best clothes,” said I, “ with their hair nicely brushed, 
and perhaps one of them will be so charming as to 
wear a necklace,” and I tossed the thing lightly 
over the chair-back into Elsa’s lap. 

She caught it with a little cry, looked at it for 
a moment, whispered in her mother’s ear, jumped 
up, and, blushing still, ran round and kissed me. 

“ Oh, thank you ! ” she cried. 

I kissed her hand and her cheek. My mother 
smiled, patiently it seemed to me ; the Duchess 
was tremulously radiant ; Bederhof obviously be- 
nign. It was a pretty group, with the pretty child 
and her pretty toy for the centre of it. Suddenly 
I looked at my mother ; she nodded ever so slight- 
ly. I was applauded and commanded to persevere. 

Bederhof pursued his description. He went 
through it all ; he rose to eloquence in describing 
our departure from Forstadt. This scene ended, 
he seemed conscious of a bathos. It was in a dull, 
rather apologetic tone that he concluded by re- 
marking : 

“ Their Majesties will arrive at Artenberg at 
seven o’clock, and will partake of dinner.” 

There appeared to be no desire to dwell on this 
somewhat inglorious conclusion to so eventful a 
day. A touch of haste betrayed itself in my moth- 
er’s manner as she asked for the list of the guests. 
Elsa had dropped her necklace in her lap, and sat 
looking before her with an absent expression. The 
280 


UT PUTO, VESTIS FIO 


names of distinguished visitors, however, offered a 
welcome diversion. We were all in very good 
spirits again in a few minutes. Presently the 
names bored Elsa ; she jumped up, ran to a mirror, 
and tried on her necklace. The names bored me 
also, but I stood where I was. Soon a glance 
from her summoned me, and I joined her. The 
diamonds were round her neck, squeezed in above 
the high collar of her morning gown. 

“ They’ll look lovely in the evening,” she said. 

“You’ll have lots more given you,” I assured 
her. 

“ Do you think so ? ” she asked, in gleefulness 
dashed with incredulity. 

“ Scores,” said I solemnly. 

“ I am very grateful to you for — for everything,” 
she said almost in a whisper, with a sort of peni- 
tence that I understood well enough, and an ob- 
vious desire to show every proper feeling toward 
me. 

“ I delight to please you above all things now,” 
I answered ; but even to myself the words sounded 
cold and formal. Yet they were true ; it was above 
all things my wish to persuade her that she was 
happy. To this end I used eagerly the aid of the 
four (or was it six ?) gray horses, the necklace, and 
“ Their Majesties.” 

In the next few days I was much with Elsa, but 
not much alone with her. There was, of course, 
no want of ready company, but most of those who 
offered themselves merely intensified the constraint 
which their presence was expected to remove. Even 
Victoria overdid her part rather, betraying an ex- 
aggerated fear of leaving us to ourselves. Varvil- 
liers’ admirable tact, his supreme apparent uncon- 
281 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


sciousness, and his never-failing flow of gaiety made 
him our ideal companion. I missed in him that 
sympathy with my sombre moods which bound me 
to Wetter, spirit to spirit; but for lighter hours, 
for hours that must be made light, he was incom- 
parable. With him Elsa bloomed into merriment, 
and being, as it were, midway between us, he 
seemed to me to bridge the gulf of mind and tem- 
perament that separated her from me. Hour by 
hour she grew happier, less timid, more her true 
self. I took great comfort from this excellent state 
of things. N o doubt I must be careful not to up- 
set her (as Victoria said), but she was certainly 
getting used to me (as William Adolphus said). 
Moreover, I was getting used to her, to the ob- 
ligations she expressed, and to the renunciations 
she involved. But I had no more wish to try to 
upset her. 

It must be a familiar fact to many that we are 
very prone to mistake or confuse the sources of our 
pleasure and the causes of such contentment as we 
achieve. W e attribute to our surroundings in gen- 
eral what is due to one especial part of them ; for 
the sake of one feature the landscape’s whole as- 
pect seems pleasant ; we rob Peter with intent to 
pay Paul, and then in the end give the money to 
somebody else. It is not difficult to see how Elsa 
and I came to think that we got on better with one 
another because we both got on so well with Var- 
villiers, that we were more comfortable together 
because he made us both comfortable, that we 
came nearer to understanding each other because 
he understood us so admirably. We did not per- 
ceive even that he was the occasion of our improved 
relations, far less did we realise that he was their 
282 


UT PUTO, VESTIS FIO 


cause and their essence ; that it was to him I 
looked, to him she looked ; and that while he was 
between there could be no rude direct contact of 
her eyes with mine, nor of mine with hers. On- 
lookers see most of the game, they say, but here 
the onlookers were as blind as the players ; there 
was an air of congratulation at Artenberg; the 
King and his bride were drawing closer together. 
The blindness was complete ; Varvilliers himself 
shared it. Of his absolute good faith and utter 
unconsciousness I, who doubt most things, cannot 
doubt. Had he been Wetter, I should have been 
alert for the wry smile and the lift of the brows ; 
but he was his simple self, a perfect gentleman un- 
spoiled by thought. Such are entirely delightful ; 
that they work infinite havoc with established re- 
lations between other people seems a small price 
to pay for the privilege which their existence con- 
fers upon the world. My dear friend Varvilliers, 
for whom my heart is always warm, played the 
mischief with the relations between Elsa and my- 
self, which we all (very whimsically) supposed him 
to be improving. 

It was a comparatively small, although an inter- 
estingly unusual, thing that I came to enjoy Elsa’s 
society coupled with Varvilliers’, and not to care 
much about it taken alone ; it was a more serious, 
though far more ordinary, turn of affairs that Elsa 
should come to be happy enough with me provided 
that Varvilliers were there to — shall I say to take 
the edge off me ? — but cared not a jot to meet me 
in his absence. The latter circumstance is simply 
and conventionally explained (and, after all, these 
conventional expressions are no more arbitrary 
than the alphabet, which is admitted to be a useful 
283 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


means of communicating our ideas) by saying that 
Elsa was falling in love with Varvilliers ; my own 
state of mind would deserve analysis, but for a 
haunting notion that no states of mind are worth 
such trouble. Let us leave it; there it was. It 
was impossible to say which of us would miss Var- 
villiers more. He had become necessary to both 
of us. The conclusion drawn by the way of this 
world is, of course, at once obvious ; it followed 
pat from the premise. We must both of us be de- 
prived of him as soon as possible. I am not con- 
cerned to argue that the world is wrong ; and the 
very best way to advance a paradox is to look as 
though you were uttering a platitude. In this art 
the wittiest writer cuts a poor figure beside the 
laws of society. 

The end of the week approached. Elsa was to 
go ; Varvilliers was to go. So the arrangement 
stood; Elsa was to return, about Varvilliers’ return 
nothing had been said. The bandage was still over 
the eyes of all of us ; we had not perceived the need 
of settling anything about him. He was still as 
insignificant to us as he was to Princess Heinrich 
herself. 

This being the state of the case, there enters to 
me one morning my good Cousin Elizabeth, tear- 
fully radiant and abundantly maternal. The reason 
was soon declared. Elsa had been found crying 
again, and wondering vaguely what she was crying 
about. It was suggested to her that her grief was 
due to approaching departure ; Elsa embraced the 
idea at once. It was pointed out that a month’s 
absence from me was involved ; Elsa sighed deeply 
and dabbed her eyes. Cousin Elizabeth dabbed hers 
as she told the story; then she caught me in her 
284 


UT PUTO, VESTIS FIO 


arms, kissed me, and said that her happiness was 
complete. What was I to do ? I was profoundly 
surprised, but any display of that emotion would 
have been inappropriate and ungracious. I could 
appear only compassionate and gratified. 

“Things do happen right sometimes, you see,” 
pursued Cousin Elizabeth, triumphing in this refu- 
tation of some little sneer of mine which she had 
contested the day before. “ I knew you had come 
to care for her, and now she cares for you. I 
never was indifferent to that side of it. I always 
hoped. And now it really is so ! Kiss me, Augus- 
tin dear.” 

I kissed Cousin Elizabeth. I was miles away in 
thought, lost in perplexed musings. 

“ I comforted her, and told her that the time 
would soon pass, and that then she would have you 
all to herself, with no tiresome people to interrupt. 
But the poor darling still cried a little. But one 
can’t really grieve, can one ? A little sorrow means 
so much happiness later on, doesn’t it ? And though 
I couldn’t comfort her, you’ll be able to, I daresay. 
What’s a month ? ” 

“Nothing,” said I. I was conscious of realising 
that it was at all events very little. 

“ I shall expect to see her quite smiling after 
she’s had a little talk with you,” was Cousin Eliza- 
beth’s parting speech. It won from me a very re- 
assuring nod, and left me in mazes of bewilderment. 
There was nothing in particular which I believed, 
but I disbelieved one thing very definitely. It was 
that Elsa wept because she must be absent from 
me for a month — a month delightfully busied with 
the making of four hundred frocks. 

Impelled partly by duty but more by curiosity, 
19 285 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


I went in search of her. Having failed to find her 
in the house or on the terrace, I descended into the 
hanging woods, and made for an arbour which she 
and I and Varvilliers had fallen into the habit of 
frequenting. A broad grass path ran up to the 
front of it, but, coming as I did, I approached it by 
a side track. Elsa sat on the sea* and Varvilliers 
stood before her. He was talking; she leaned for- 
ward listening, with her hands clasped in her lap 
and her eyes fixed on his face. Neither perceived 
me. I walked briskly toward them, without loiter- 
ing or spying, but I did not call out. Varvilliers’ 
talk was light, if it might be judged by his occasional 
laughs. When I was ten yards off I called, “ Hallo, 
here you are ! ” He turned with a little start, but 
an easy smile. Elsa flushed red. I had not yet 
apprehended the truth, although now the idea was 
dimly in my mind. I sat down by Elsa, and we 
talked. Of what I have forgotten. I think, in 
part, of William Adolphus, I laughing at my 
brother-in-law, Varvilliers feigning to defend him 
with good-humoured irony. It did not matter of 
what we talked. For me there was significance in 
nothing save in Elsa’s eyes. They were all for Var- 
villiers, for him sparkled, for him clouded, for him 
wondered, laughed, applauded, lived. Presently I 
dropped out of the conversation and sat silent, fac- 
ing this new thing. It was not bitter to me ; my 
mood of desire had gone too utterly. There was no 
pang of defeated rivalry. But I knew why Elsa had 
cried, who had power to bring, and who also had 
power to dry, her tears. 

Suddenly I saw, or seemed to see, a strange and 
unusual restraint in Varvilliers’ manner. He missed 
the thread of a story, stumbled, grew dull, and lost 
286 


UT PUTO, VESTIS FIO 


his animation. He seemed to talk now for duty, 
not for pleasure, as a man who covers an awkward 
moment rather than employs to the full a happy 
opportunity. Then his glance rested for an instant 
on my face. I do not know what or how much 
my face told him, but I did not look at him un- 
kindly. 

“ I must go, if I may,” he said addressing me. 
“ I promised to ride with Vohrenlorf, and the time 
is past.” 

He bowed to Elsa and to me. 

“We shall see you this afternoon ? ” she asked. 

He bowed again in acquiescence, but with an air 
of discomfort. Elsa looked at him, and from him 
to me. She flushed again, opened her lips, but did 
not speak ; then she bent her head down, and the 
blush spread from neck to forehead. 

“ Go, my dear friend, go,” said I. 

He looked at me as though he would have spoken, 
almost as though he would have protested or ex- 
cused himself, inadmissible as such a thing plainly 
was. I smiled at him, but waved my hand to dis- 
miss him. He turned and walked quickly away 
along the broad grass path. I watched him till 
he was out of sight ; all the while I was conscious 
of an utter motionlessness in Elsa’s figure beside 
me. 

We must have sat there a long while in that un- 
broken eloquent silence, hardly moving, never look- 
ing at one another. For her I was full of grief ; a 
wayward thing it was, indeed, of fate to fashion out 
of Varvilliers’ pleasant friendship this new weapon of 
attack. She had been on the way to contentment — 
at least to resignation — but was now thrust back. 
And she was ashamed. Poor child ! why, in Heav- 

m 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


en’s name, should she be ashamed ? Should she 
not better have been ashamed of a fancy so ill di- 
rected as to light on me when Varvilliers was by? 
For myself I seemed to see rising before me the 
need for a new deception, a hoodwinking of all the 
world, a secret that none must know or suspect, 
that she and I must have between us for our own. 
The thing might pass ; she was young. Very likely, 
but it would not pass in time. There were the frocks. 
Ah, but the wardrobe that half hid me would not 
suffice to obscure Varvilliers. Or would it? I 
smiled for an instant. Instead of hiding behind the 
wardrobe, I saw myself becoming part of it, blend- 
ing with it. Should I take rank as the four-hun- 
dred-and-first frock? “ Willingly give thyself up 
to Clotho, allowing her to spin thy thread into 
whatever things she pleases.” Even into a frock, O 
Emperor? Goes the philosophy as far as that? 

At last I turned to her and laid my hand gently 
on her clasped hands. 

“Come, my dear,” said I, “we must be going 
back. They’ll all be looking for us. We’re 
too important people to be allowed to hide our- 
selves.” 

As I spoke I jumped to my feet, holding out my 
hand to help her to rise. She looked up at me in 
an oddly pathetic way. I was afraid that she was 
going to speak of the matter, and there was nothing 
to be gained by speaking of it. “ Give me your 
hand,” I said with a smile, and she obeyed. The 
pleading in her eyes persisted. As she stood up, I 
kissed her lightly on the forehead. Then we walked 
away together. 

That afternoon I was summoned to Princess 
Heinrich’s room to drink tea with her and the Duch- 
288 


UT PUTO, VESTIS FIO 


ess. Cousin Elizabeth was still exuberant ; it seemed 
to me that a cold watchfulness governed my mother’s 
mood. Relations between my mother and myself 
have not always been cordial ; but I have never failed 
to perceive and respect in her a fine inner sincer- 
ity, an aptitude for truth and a resolute facing of 
facts. While Cousin Elizabeth talked, the Princess 
sat smiling with her usual faint smile; it never 
showed the least inclination to become a laugh. 
She acquiesced politely in the rose-coloured de- 
scription of Elsa’s feelings and affections. She had 
perception enough to know that the picture could 
not be true. Presently I took the liberty of in- 
forming her by a glance that I was not a partner in 
the delusion. She showed no surprise ; but the 
fruit of my act was that she detained me by a 
gesture, after Cousin Elizabeth had taken her 
leave. For a few moments she sat silent ; then she 
remarked : 

“ The Duchess is a very kind woman, very anx- 
ious to make everybody happy.” 

“ Yes,” said I carelessly. 

“ But it must be in her own way. She is ro- 
mantic. She thinks everybody else must be the 
same. You and I know, Augustin, that things of 
that kind occupy a very small part of a man’s life. 
My sex deludes itself. And when a man occupies 
the position you do, it’s absurd to suppose that he 
pays much attention to them.” 

“No doubt Cousin Elizabeth exaggerates,” said 
I, standing in a respectful attitude before my 
mother. 

“ Well, I daresay you remember the time when 
Victoria was a girl. You recollect her folly? But 
you and I were firm — you behaved very well then, 
289 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


Augustin — and the result is that she is most suit- 
ably and most happily married.” 

I bowed. I did not think that any agreement of 
mine could be worthy of the magnificent boldness 
of Princess Heinrich’s statement. 

“ Girls are silly ; they pass through a silly time,” 
she pursued, smiling. 

A sudden remembrance shot across me. 

“ It doesn’t do to take any notice of such 
things,” said I gravely. 

Happily, perhaps, Princess Heinrich was not 
awake to the fact that she herself was being quoted 
to herself. 

“ I’m glad to hear you say so,” she said. “You 
have your work to do. Don’t waste your time in 
thinking of girls’ megrims — or of their mothers’ 
nonsense.” 

I left her presence with a strong sense that Provi- 
dence had erred in not making her a saint, a king, 
or anything else that demands a resolute repression 
of human infirmities. Some people are content to 
triumph over their own weaknesses ; my mother had 
an eye also for the frailty of others. 

She made no reference at all to V arvilliers. There 
was always something to be learned from Princess 
Heinrich. From early youth I was inured to a cer- 
tain degree of painfulness in the lesson. 

“Willingly give thyself up to Clotho.” My 
mother was more than willing. She was proud; 
and, if I may be allowed to vary the metaphor, 
she embarked on the ship of destiny with a family 
ticket. 


290 


CHAPTER XXIII 


A PARADOX OF SENSIBILITY 

To many the picture presented by my life might 
seem that of a man who detects the trap and yet 
walks into it, sinks under burdens that he might 
cast aside, groans at chains that he could break, 
and will not leave the prison although the door-key 
is in his pocket. Such an impression my record 
may well give, unless it be understood that what 
came upon me was not an impossibility of move- 
ment, but a paralysis of the will to move. In this 
there is nothing peculiar to one placed as I was. 
Most men could escape from what irks, confines, or 
burdens them at the cost of effacing their past 
lives, breaking the continuity of existence, cutting 
the cord that binds together, in a sequence of cir- 
cumstances and incidents, youth, and maturity, and 
age. But who can do the thing ? One man in a 
thousand, and he generally a scoundrel. 

Our guests returned to Bartenstein, the Duchess 
still radiant and maternal, Elsa infinitely kind, in- 
finitely apologetic, a little tearful, never for an in- 
stant wavering in her acceptance of the future. 
Varvilliers took leave of me with great friendliness; 
there was in his air now just a hint of amusement, 
most decorously suppressed; he was charmingly 
unconscious of any possible seriousness in the posi- 
tion. My mother went to visit Styrian relatives. 
Victoria and William Adolphus had taken a villa 
by the sea-side. I was quite alone at Artenberg, 
291 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


save for my faithful Vohrenlorf, and Vohrenlorfwas 
bored to death. That will not appear strange ; to 
me it seemed enviable. A prisoner under sentence 
probably discerns much that is attractive even in 
the restricted life of his jailer. 

In a day or two there came upon me a persist- 
ent restlessness, and with it constant thoughts of 
Wetter. I wondered where he was and what he 
did; I longed to share the tempestuousness of his 
life and thoughts. He brought with him other re- 
membrances, of the passions and the events that 
we two had, in friendship or hostility, witnessed 
together. They had seemed, all of them, far be- 
hind in the past, belonging to the days when, as 
old Vohrenlorf had told me, I had still six years. 
Now I had only a month; but the images were 
with me, importunate and pleading. I was asking 
whether I could not, even now, save something out 
of life. 

Three days later found me established in a hotel 
in the Place Vendome at Paris, Vohrenlorf my 
only companion. I was in strictest incognito ; 
Baron de Neberhausen was my name. But in 
Paris in August my incognito was almost a super- 
fluity for me, although a convenience to others. 
It was very hot; I did not care. The town was 
absolutely empty. Not for me ! Here is my se- 
cret. Wetter was in Paris. I had seen it stated 
in the newspaper. What brought the man of 
moods to Paris in August? I could answer the 
question in one way only: the woman of his 
mood. I did not care about her; I wanted to see 
him and hear again from his own lips what he 
thought of the universe, of my part and his in it, 
and of the ways of the Power that ruled it. In a 
292 


A PARADOX OF SENSIBILITY 


month I should be on my honeymoon with Cousin 
Elsa. I fought desperately against the finality 
implied in that. 

On the second evening I gave Vohrenlorf the 
slip, and went out on the Boulevards alone. In 
great cities nobody is known ; I enjoyed the lux- 
ury of being ignored. I might pass for a student, 
a chemist, at a pinch, perhaps, for a poet of a re- 
flective type. My natural manner would seem no 
more than a touch of youth’s pardonable arro- 
gance. I sat down and had some coffee. It was 
half-past ten, and the pavements were full. I 
bought a paper and read a paragraph about Elsa 
and myself. Elsa and myself both seemed rather 
a long way off. It was delicious to make believe 
that this here and this now were reality ; the king- 
ship, Elsa, the wedding and the rest, some story or 
poem that I, the student, had been making la- 
boriously before working hours ended, and I was 
free to seek the Boulevards. I was pleased when 
a pretty girl, passing by, stared hard at me and 
seemed to like my looks ; this tribute was my own ; 
she was not staring at the king. 

Satisfaction, not surprise, filled me when, in 
about twenty minutes, I saw Wetter coming 
toward the cafe. I had taken a table far back 
from the street, and he did not see me. The 
glaring gaslight gave him a deeper paleness and 
cut the lines of his face to a sharper edge. He 
was talking with great animation, his hands mov- 
ing constantly in eager gesture. I was within an 
ace of springing forward to greet him — so my 
heart went out to him — but the sight of his com- 
panion restrained me, and I sat chuckling and 
wondering in my corner. There they were, large 
293 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


as life, true to Varvilliers’ description ; the big 
stomach and the locket that a hyperbole, so in- 
evitable as to outstrip mere truth in fidelity, had 
called bigger. Besides there were the whiskers, 
the heavy jowl, the infinite fatness of the man, a 
fatness not of mere flesh only, but of manner, of 
air, of thought, of soul. There was no room for 
doubt or question. This was Coralie’s impresario, 
Coralie’s career, her duty, her destiny ; in a word, 
everything to Coralie that poor little Cousin Elsa 
was to me. Nay, your pardon ; that I was to 
Cousin Elsa. I put my cigar back in my mouth 
and smoked gravely ; it seemed improper to laugh. 

The two men sat down at an outer table. W et- 
ter was silent now, and Struboff (I remembered 
suddenly that I had seen Coralie described as 
Madame Mansoni-Struboff) was talking. I could 
almost see the words treacling from his thick lips. 
What in Heaven’s name made him Wetter’s com- 
panion ? What in Heaven’s name made me such 
a fool as to ask the question ? Men like Struboff 
can have but one merit, and, to be fair, but one 
serious crime. It is the same; they are the hus- 
bands of their wives. 

I could contain myself no longer. I rose and 
walked forward. I laid my hand on Wetter’s 
shoulder, saying : 

“ My dear friend, have you forgotten me — Baron 
de Neberhausen ? ” 

He looked up with a start, but when he saw me 
his eyes softened. He clasped my hand. 

“ Neberhausen? ” he said. 

“ Yes ; we met in Forstadt.” 

“ To be sure,” he laughed. “ May I present my 
friend to you ? M. le Baron de Neberhausen, M. 

294 


A PARADOX OF SENSIBILITY 


Struboff. You will know Struboff’s name. He 
gives us the best operas in the world, and the best 
singing.” 

“M. Struboff’s fame has reached me,” said I, 
sitting down. 

Evidently Struboff did not know me ; he re- 
ceived the introduction without any show of defer- 
ence. I was delighted. I should have seen little 
of the true man had he been aware from the first 
who I was. Things being as they were, I could 
flatter him, and he had no motive for flattering me. 
A mere baron had no effect on him. He resumed 
the interrupted conversation; he was telling Wet- 
ter how he could make money out of music, and 
then more music out of the money, then more 
money out of the music, and so on, in an endless 
chain of music and money, money and music, 
money, music, money. W etter sat looking at him 
with a smile of malicious mockery. 

“ Happy man ! ” he cried suddenly. “You love 
only two things in the world, and you’ve married 
both.” 

Struboff pulled his whisker meditatively. 

“Yes, I have done well,” he said, and drained 
his glass. “But hasn’t Coralie done well too? 
Where would she have been but for me ? ” 

“ Indeed, my dear Struboff, there’s no telling, 
but I suppose in the arms of somebody else.” 

“Your own, for example?” growled the hus- 
band. 

“Observe the usual reticences,” said Wetter, 
with a laugh. “ My dear Baron, Struboff mocks 
my misery by a pretended jealousy. You can re- 
assure him. Did Madame Mansoni ever favour 
me?” 


295 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ I can speak only of what I know, ” I answered, 
smiling. “ She never favoured you before me.” 

He caught the ambiguity of my words, and 
laughed again. Struboff turned toward me with a 
stare. 

“ You also knew my wife ? ” he asked. 

“ I had the honour,” said I. “In Forstadt.” 

“ In Forstadt ! Do you know the king? ” 

“Not so well as I could wish,” I answered. 
“ About as well as I know W etter here. ” 

“ That’s admirably well ! ” cried W etter. “ W ell 
enough not to trust me.” 

The fat man looked from one to the other of us 
in an obtuse suspicion of our hilarity. 

“ The king admired my wife’s talents,” said he. 
“ We intend to visit Forstadt next year.” 

“Do you?” said I, and Wetter’s peal broke out 
again. 

“ The king will find my wife’s talent much in- 
creased by training,” pursued Struboff. 

“ Damn your wife’s talent ! ” said W etter, quite 
suddenly. “ You talk as much about it as she 
does of your beauty.” 

“ I hope madame is well ? ” I interposed quickly 
and suavely, for Struboff had grown very red and 
gave signs of temper. Wetter did not allow him 
to answer. He sprang to his feet and dragged 
Struboff up by the arm. 

“ Take his other arm ! ” he cried to me. “ Bring 
him along. Come, come, we’ll all go and see how 
madame is.” 

“ It’s nearly eleven,” remonstrated Struboff sour- 
ly. “ I want to go to bed.” 

“You? You go to bed? You, with your 
crimes, go to bed ? Why, you couldn’t sleep ! 

296 


A PARADOX OF SENSIBILITY 


You would cower all night ! Go to bed ! Oh, my 
dear Struboff, think better of it. No, no, we’ll none 
of us go to bed. Bed’s a hell for men like us. For 
you above all ! Think again, Struboff, think again ! ” 

Struboff shrugged his fat shoulders in helpless 
bad temper. I was laughing so much (at what, at 
what ?) that I could hardly do my part in hustling 
him along. Wetter set a hot pace, and Struboff 
soon began to pant. 

“ I can’t walk. Call a cab ! ” he gasped. 

“Cab? No, no. We can’t sit still. Conscience, 
my dear Struboff ! Post equitem — you know. 
There’s nothing like walking for sinners like us. 
Bring him along, Baron, bring him along ! ” 

“Perhaps M. Struboff doesn’t desire our com- 
pany,” I suggested. 

“ Perhaps ! ” shouted Wetter, with a laugh that 
turned a dozen heads toward him. “ Oh, my dear 
Struboff, do you hear this suggestion of our friend 
the baron’s ? What a pity you have no breath to 
repudiate it ! ” 

But now we were escaping from the crowd. 
Crossing in front of the Opera House, we made for 
the Rue de la Paix. The pace became smarter 
still ; not only was Struboff breathless with being 
dragged along, but I was breathless with dragging 
him. I insisted on a cab. Wetter yielded, planted 
Struboff and me side by side, and took the little 
seat facing us himself. Here he sat, smiling mali- 
ciously, as the poor impresario mopped his forehead 
and fetched up deep gasps of breath. Where lay 
the inspiration of this horseplay of Wetter’s ? 

“ Quicker, quicker ! ” he cried to the driver. “ I 
am impatient, my friends are impatient. Quick, 
quick ! Only God is patient.” 

297 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


44 He’s mad,” grunted StrubofF. 44 He’s quite 
mad. The devil, I’m hot ! ” 

Wetter suddenly assumed an air of great dignity 
and blandness. 

“ In offering to present us to madame at an hour 
possibly somewhat late,” he said, “ our dear M. Stru- 
bofF shows his wonted amiability. We should be 
failing in gratitude if we did not thank him most 
sincerely.” 

6 4 1 didn’t ask you to come,” growled StrubofF. 

Wetter looked at him with an air of grieved sur- 
prise, but said nothing at all. He turned to me 
with a ridiculous look of protest, as though asking 
for my support. I laughed ; the mad nonsense 
was so welcome to me. 

W e stopped before a tall house in the Rue W ash- 
ington ; W etter bundled us out with immense haste. 
There were lights in the second-floor windows. 
44 Madame expects us ! ” he cried with a rapturous 
clasping of his hands. 44 Come, come, dear Stru- 
bofF! — Baron, Baron, pray take StrubofF’s arm; 
the steps to heaven are so steep.” 

StrubofF seemed resigned to his fate ; he allowed 
himself to be pushed upstairs without expostula- 
tion. He opened the door for us, and ushered us 
into the passage. As he preceded us, I had time 
for one whisper to Wetter. 

44 You’re still mad about her, are you?” I said, 
pinching his arm. 

44 Still ? Good Heavens, no ! Again ! ” he an- 
swered. 

The door that faced us was thrown open, and 
Coralie stood before me in a loose gown of a dark- 
red colour. Before she could speak, W etter dartecj 
forward, pulling me after him. 

298 


A PARADOX OF SENSIBILITY 


“ I have the distinguished honour to present my 
friend, M. de Neberhausen,” he said. “You may 
remember meeting him at Forstadt.” 

Coralie looked for a moment at each of us in 
turn. She smiled and nodded her head. 

“ Perfectly,” she said ; “ but it is a surprise to see 
him here, a very pleasant surprise.” She gave me 
her hand, which I kissed with a fine flourish of 
gallantry. 

“ This gentleman knows the King very well,” 
said Struboff, nodding at her with a solemn signifi- 
cance. “ There’s money in that ! ” he seemed to say. 

“ Does he ? ” she asked indifferently ; and added 
to me, “ Pray come in. I was not expecting vis- 
itors; you must make excuses for me.” 

She did not seem changed in the least degree. 
There was the same indolence, the same languid, 
slow enunciation. It struck me in a moment that 
she ignored her husband’s presence. He had gone 
to a sideboard and was fingering a decanter. Wet- 
ter flung himself on a sofa. 

“ It is really you ? ” she asked in a whisper, with 
a lift of her eyelids. 

“ Oh, without the least doubt ! ” I answered. 
“ And it is you also ? ” 

Struboff came forward, tumbler in hand. 

“ Pray, is your King fond of music ? ” he asked. 

“ He will adore it from the lips of Madame Stru- 
boff,” I answered, bowing. 

“ He adored it from the lips of Mile. Mansoni,” 
observed Wetter, with a malicious smile. Struboff 
glared at him ; Coralie smiled slightly. An inkling 
of Wetter’s chosen part came into my mind. He 
had elected to make Struboff uncomfortable ; he 
did not choose that the fat man should enjoy his 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


victory in peace. My emotions chimed in with his 
resolve, but reason suggested that the ethical merits 
were more on Struboff’s side. He was Coralie’s 
career ; the analogy of my own relation toward 
Elsa urged that he who is a career is entitled to 
civility. Was not I Elsa’s Struboff? I broke into 
a sudden laugh ; it passed as a tribute to Wetter’s 
acid correction. 

“ You are studying here in Paris, madame? ” I 
asked. 

“Yes,” said Coralie. “Why else should we be 
here now? ” 

“ Why else should I be here now?” asked Wet- 
ter. “ For the matter of that, Baron, why else 
should you be here now? Why else should any- 
body be here now ? It is even an excuse for Stru- 
boff’s presence.” 

“ I need no excuse for being in my own home,” 
said Struboff, and he gulped down his liquor. 

W etter sprang up and seized him by the arm. 

“You are becoming fatter and fatter and fatter. 
Presently you will be round, quite round ; they’ll 
make a drum of you, and I’ll beat you in the orches- 
tra while madame sings divinely on the boards. 
Come and see if we can possibly avoid this thing,” 
and he led him off to the sofa. There they began 
to talk, Wetter suddenly dropping his burlesque 
and allowing a quiet, earnest manner to succeed 
his last outburst. I caught some mention of thou- 
sands of francs; surely there must be a bond 
of interest, or Wetter would have been turned out 
before now. 

Coralie moved toward the other end of the room, 
which was long, although narrow. I followed her. 
As she sat down she remarked : 

300 


A PARADOX OF SENSIBILITY 


44 He has lent StrubofF twenty thousand francs ; 
but for that I must have sung before I was ready.” 

The situation seemed a little clearer. 

44 But he is curious,” she pursued, fixing a pa- 
tiently speculative eye on Wetter. 44 You would 
say that he was fond of me ? ” 

“ It is a possible reason for his presence.” 

44 He doesn’t show it,” said she, with a shrug. 

I understood that little point in Wetter ’s code ; 
besides, his humour seemed just now too bitter for 
love-making. If Coralie felt any resentment, it 
did not go very deep. She turned her eyes from 
Wetter to my face. 

44 You’re going to be married very soon? ” she 
said. 

44 In a month,” said I. “ I’m having my last 
fling. You perceived our high spirits ? ” 

44 I’ve seen her picture. She’s pretty. And I’ve 
seen the Countess von Sempach.” 

46 Y ou know about her ? ” 

44 Have you forgotten that you used to speak of 
her? Ah, yes, you’ve forgotten all that you used 
to say ! The Countess is still handsome.” 

44 What of that? So are you.” 

44 True, it doesn’t matter much,” Coralie admit- 
ted. 44 Does your Princess love you ? ” 

44 Don’t you love your husband? ” 

A faint slow smile bent her lips as she glanced 
at StrubofF — himself and his locket. 

44 Nobody acts without a motive,” said I. “Not 
even in marrying.” 

The bitterness that found expression in this little 
sneer elicited no sympathetic response from Coralie. 
I was obliged to conclude that she considered her 
marriage a success ; at least that it was doing what 
20 301 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


she had expected from it. At this moment she 
yawned in her old, pretty, lazy way. Certainly 
there were no signs of romantic misery or tragic 
disillusionment about her. Again I asked myself 
whether my sympathy were not more justly due 
to StrubofF — StrubofF, who sat now smoking a 
big cigar and wobbling his head solemnly in answer 
to the emphatic taps of W etter’s forefinger on his 
waistcoat. The question was whether human ten- 
derness lay anywhere under those wrappings ; if so, 
M. StrubofF might be a proper object of compas- 
sion, his might be the misery, his (O monstrous 
thought !) the disillusionment. But the prejudice 
of beauty fought hard on Coralie’s side. I always 
find it difficult to be just to a person of markedly 
unpleasant appearance. I was piqued to much 
curiosity by these wandering ideas ; I determined 
to probe StrubofF through the layers. 

Soon after I took my leave. Coralie pressed me 
to return the next day, and before I could speak 
W etter accepted the invitation for me. There was 
no very strong repugnance in StrubofF ’s face ; I 
should not have heeded it had it appeared. Wet- 
ter prepared to come with me. I watched his 
farewell to Coralie ; his smile seemed to mock both 
her and himself. She was weary and dreary, but 
probably only because she wanted her bed. It was 
a mistake, as a rule, to attribute to her other than 
the simplest desires. The moment we were out- 
side, Wetter turned on me w T ith a savagely mirthful 
expression of my own thoughts. 

“ A wretched thing to leave her with him? Not 
the least in the world ! ” he cried. “ She will sleep 
ten hours, eat one, sing three, sleep three, eat two, 

sleep Have I run through the twenty- four? ” 

302 


A PARADOX OF SENSIBILITY 

“ Well, then, why are we to disturb ourselves ?” 
I asked. 

“ Why are we to disturb ourselves ? Good God, 
isn’t it enough that she should be like that ? ” 

I laughed as I blew out my cigarette smoke. 

“This is an old story,” said I. “ She is not in 
love with you, I suppose ? That’s it, isn’t it? ” 

“ It’s not the absence of the fact,” said he, with 
a smile; “it’s the want of the potentiality that is 
so deplorable.” 

“Why torment Struboff, though?” 

“ Struboff? ” he repeated, knitting his brows. 
“Ah, now Struboff is worth tormenting! You 
won’t believe me ; but he can feel.” 

“ I was right, then ; I thought he could.” 

“ You saw it ? ” 

“ My prospects, perhaps, quicken my wits. ” 

My arm was through his, and he pressed it be- 
tween his elbow and his side. 

“You see,” said he, “perversity runs through it 
all. She should feel ; he should not. It seems she 
doesn’t, but he does. Heavens, would you accept 
such a conclusion without the fullest experiment ? 
For me, I am determined to test it.” 

“ Still you’re in love with her.” 

“ Agreed, agreed, agreedo A man must have a 
spur to knowledge.” 

We parted at the Place de la Concorde, and I 
strolled on alone to my hotel. Vohrenlorf was 
waiting for me, a little anxious, infinitely sleepy. 
I dismissed him at once, and sat down to read my 
letters. I had the feeling that I would think about 
all these matters to-morrow, but I was also per- 
vaded by a satisfaction. My mind was beiiig fed. 
The air here nourished, the air of Artenberg starved. 
I complimented Paris on a virtue not her own; the 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


house in the Rue Washington was the source of 
my satisfaction. 

There was a letter from Varvilliers ; he wrote 
from Hungary, where he was on a visit. Here is 
something of what he said : 

44 There is a charming lady here, and we fall in 
love, all according to mode and fashion. (The but- 
tons are on the foils, pray understand.) It is the 
simplest thing in the world; the whole process 
might, as I believe, be digested into twelve elemen- 
tary motions or thereabouts. The information is 
given and received by code ; it is like playing whist. 

4 How much have you?’ her eyes ask. I * * 4 A pas- 
sion,’ I answer by the code. 4 1 have a penchant ,’ 
comes from her side of the table. 4 1 am lead- 
ing up to it,’ say I. 4 1 am returning the lead.’ 
Good ! But then comes hers (or mine), 4 1 have 
no more. ’ Alas ! W ell then, I lead, or she leads, 
another suit. It’s a good game ; and our stakes 
are not high. You, sire, would like signals harder 
to read, I know your taste. You’re right there. 
And don’t you make the stakes higher? I have 
plunged into indiscretion ; if I did not, you would 
think that Bederhof had forged my handwriting. 
Unless I am stopped on the frontier I shall be in 
Forstadt in three weeks.” 

I dropped the letter with a laugh, wondering 
whether the charming lady played the game as he 

did and a stake as light. Or did she suffer ? W ell, 
anybody can suffer. The talent is almost universal. 
There was, it seemed, reason to suppose that Strubof! 
suffered. I acquiesced, but with a sense of discon- 
tent. Pain should not be vulgarised. Varvilliers’ 

immunity gave him a new distinction in my eyes. 

304 


CHAPTER XXIV 


WHAT A QUESTION! 

Struboff’s inevitable discovery of my real name 
was a disaster ; it delayed my operations for three 
days, since it filled his whole being with a sense of 
abasement and a hope of gain, thereby suspending 
for the time those emotions in him which had ex- 
cited my curiosity. Clearly he had unstinted vis- 
ions of lucrative patronage, dreams, probably, of a 
piece of coloured ribbon for his button- hole, and a 
right to try to induce people to call him “ Cheva- 
lier.” He made Coralie a present, handsome enough. 
I respected the conscientiousness of this act; my 
friendship was an unlooked-for profit, a bonus on 
the marriage, and he gave his wife her commission. 
But he seemed cased in steel against any confi- 
dence ; he trembled as he poured me out a glass of 
wine. He had pictured me only as a desirable ap- 
pendage to a gala performance ; it is, of course, dif- 
ficult to realise that the points at which people are 
important to us are not those at which they are im- 
portant to themselves. However I made progress 
at last. The poor man’s was a sad case ; the sadder 
because only with constant effort could the onlooker 
keep its sadness disengaged from its absurdity, and 
remember that unattractiveness does not exclude 
misery. The wife in a marriage of interest is the 
spoiled child of romancers; scarcely any is rude 
enough to say, “ Well, who put you there ? ” The 
husband in such a partnership gains less attention ; 

305 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


at the most, he is allowed a subordinate share of 
the common stock of woe. The clean case for ob- 
servation — he miserable, she miles away from any 
such poignancy of emotion — was presented by Cora- 
lie’s consistency. It was not in her to make a bar- 
gain and pull grimaces when she was asked to fulfil 
it. True, she interpreted it in her own way. “ I 
promised to marry you. Well, I have. How are 
you wronged, mon cher? But did I promise to 
speak to you, to like you? Mon Dieu / who 
promised, or would ever promise, to love you ? ” 
The mingled impatience and amusement of such 
questions expressed themselves in her neglect of 
him and in her yawns. Under his locket, and 
his paunch, and his layers, he burned with pain; 
Wetter was laying the blisters open to the air, 
that their sting might be sharper. At last, sorely 
beset, he divined a sympathy in me. He thought 
it disinterested, not perceiving that he had for 
me the fascination of a travesty of myself, and 
that in his marriage I enjoyed a burlesque presenti- 
ment of what mine would be. That point of view 
was my secret until Wetter’s quick wit penetrated 
it ; he worked days before he found out why I was 
drawn to the impresario; his discovery was hailed 
with a sudden laugh and a glance, but he put noth- 
ing into words. Both to him and to me the thing 
was richer for reticence ; in the old phrase, the 
drapery enhanced the charms which it did not 
hide. 

A day came when I asked the husband to lunch- 
eon with me. I sent Vohrenlorf away ; we sat 
down together, Struboff swelling with pride, seeing 
himself telling the story in the wings, meditating 
the appearance and multiplication of paragraphs. 

306 


WHAT A QUESTION! 


I said not a word to discourage the visions ; we 
talked of how Coralie should make fame and he 
money ; he grew enthusiastic, guttural, and severe 
on the Steinberg. I ordered more Steinberg, and 
fished for more enthusiasm. I put my purse at his 
disposal ; he dipped his fingers deep, with an anx- 
ious furtive eagerness. The loan was made, or at 
least pledged, before it flashed across my brain that 
the money was destined for Wetter — he wanted to 
pay off Wetter. We were nearing the desired 
ground. 

“ My dear M. Struboff,” said I, “you must not 
allow yourself to be embarrassed. Great properties 
are slow to develop ; but I have patience with my 
investments. Clear yourself of all claims. Money 
troubles fritter away a man’s brains, and you want 
yours.” 

He muttered something about temporary scar- 
city. 

“ It would be intolerable that madame should be 
bothered with such matters,” I said. 

He gulped down his Steinberg and gave a snort. 
The sound was eloquent, although not sweet. I 
filled his glass and handed him a cigar. He drank 
the wine, but laid the cigar on the table and rested 
his head on his hand. 

“ And women like to have money about,” I pur- 
sued, looking at the veins on his forehead. 

“ I’ve squandered money on her,” he said. “ Good 
money.” 

“Yes, yes. One’s love seeks every mode of ex- 
pression. I’m sure she’s grateful.” 

He raised his eyes and looked at me. I was 
smoking composedly. 

“Were you once in love with my wife?” he 
307 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


asked bluntly. His deference wore away under 
the corrosion of Steinberg and distress. 

“ Let us choose our words, my dear M. Struboff. 
Once I professed attachment to Mile. Mansoni.” 

“ She loved you ? ” 

“ It is discourteous not to accept any impression 
that a lady wishes to convey to you,” I answered, 
smiling. 

“ Ah, you know her ! ” he cried, bringing his fist 
down on the table. 

“ Not the least in the world,” I assured him. 
“ Her beauty, her charm, her genius — yes, we all 
know those. But her soul ! That’s her husband’s 
prerogative.” 

There was silence for a moment, during which he 
still looked at me, his thick eyelids half hiding the 
pathetic gaze of his little eyes. 

“ My life’s a hell ! ” he said, and laid his head be- 
tween his hands on the table. 1 saw a shudder in 
his fat shoulders. 

“ My dear M. Struboff,” I murmured, as I rose 
and walked round to him. I did not like touching 
him, but I forced myself to pat his shoulder kindly. 
“Women take whims and fancies,” said I, as I 
walked back to my seat. 

He raised his head and set his chin between his 
fists. 

“ She took me for what she could get out of me,” 
said he. 

“ Shall we be just ? Didn’t you look to get some- 
thing out of her ? ” 

“Yes. I married her for that,” he answered. “ But 
I’m a damned fool ! I saw that she loathed me; it 
isn’t hard to see. You see it ; everybody sees it.” 

“And you fell in love with her? That was 
308 


WHAT A QUESTION! 

breaking the bargain, wasn’t it ? ” It crossed my 
mind that I might possibly break my bargain with 
Elsa. But the peril was remote. 

“My God, it’s maddening to be treated like a 
beast. Am I repulsive, am I loathsome ? ” 

“ What a question, my dear M. Struboff ! ” 

“ And I live with her. It is for all day and every 
day.” 

“Come, come, be reasonable. We’re not love- 
sick boys.” 

“ If I touch a piece of bread in giving it to her, 
she cuts herself another slice.” 

How I understood you in that, O dainty cruel 
Coralie ! 

“ And that devil comes and laughs at me.” 

“ He needn’t come, if you don’t wish it.” 

“ Perhaps it’s better than being alone with her,” 
he groaned. “And she doesn’t deceive me. Ah, 
I should like sometimes to say to her, ‘ Do what 
you like ; amuse yourself, I shall not see. It 
wouldn’t matter.’ If she did that, she mightn’t be 
so hard to me. You wonder that I say this, that I 
feel it like this ? Well, I’m a man; I’m not a dog. 
I don’t dirty people when I touch them.” 

I got up and walked to the hearthrug. I stood 
there with my back to him. He blew his nose loudly, 
then took the bottle ; I heard the wine trickle in the 
glass and the sound of his noisy swallowing. There 
was a long silence. He struck a match and lit his 
cigar. Then he folded up the notes I had given 
him, and the clasp of his pocket-book clicked. 

“ I have to go with her to rehearsal, ” he said. 

I turned round and walked toward him. His 
uneasy deference returned, he jumped up with a 
bow and an air of awkward embarrassment. 

309 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ Y our Majesty is very good. Y our Majesty par- 
dons me ? I have abused your Majesty’s kindness. 
You understand, I have nobody to speak to.” 

“ I understand very well, M. Struboff. I am 
very sorry. Be kind to her and she will change 
toward you.” 

He shook his head ponderously. 

“ She won’t change,” he said, and stood shuffling 
his feet as he waited to be dismissed. I gave him 
my hand. (O Coralie, you and your bread ! I un- 
derstood. ) 

“She’ll get accustomed to you,” I murmured, 
with a reminiscence of William Adolphus. 

“I think she hates me more every day.” He 
bowed over my hand, and backed out with clumsy 
ceremony. 

I flung myself on the sofa. Was not the bur- 
lesque well conceived and deftly fashioned ? True, 
I did not seem to myself much like Struboff. There 
was no comfort in that ; Struboff did not seem to 
himself much like what he was. “ Am I repulsive, 
am I loathsome ? ” he cried indignantly, and my di- 
plomacy could answer only, “ What a question, my 
dear M. Struboff! ” If I cried out, asking whether 
I were so unattractive that my bride must shrink 
from me, a thousand shocked voices would answer 
in like manner, “ Oh, sire, what a question ! ” 

Later in the day I called on Coralie and found 
her alone. Speaking as though from my own ob- 
servation, I taxed her roundly with her coldness to 
Struboff and with allowing him to perceive her dis- 
taste for him. I instanced the matter of the bread, 
declaring that I had noticed it when I breakfasted 
with them. Coralie began to laugh. 

“Do I do that? Well, perhaps I do. You’ve 
310 


WHAT A QUESTION! 


felt his hand ? It is not very pleasant. Yes, I 
think I do take another piece.” 

“ He observes it.” 

“ Oh, I think not. He doesn’t care. Besides 
he must know. Have I pretended to care for him? 
Heavens, I’m no hypocrite. We knew very well 
what we wanted, he and I. We have each got it. 
But kisses weren’t in the bargain.” 

“ And you kiss nobody now ? ” 

“ No, ” she answered simply and without offence. 
“No. Wetter doesn’t ask me, and you know I 
never felt love for him ; if he did ask me, I wouldn’t. 
These things are very troublesome. And you don’t 
ask me.” 

“No, I don’t, Coralie,” said I, smiling. 

“ I might kiss you, perhaps.” 

“ I have something to give too, have I ? ” 

“No, that would be no use. I should make 
nothing out of you. And the rest is nonsense. No, 
I wouldn’t kiss you, if you did ask.” 

“ Perhaps Wetter will ask you now. I have lent 
your husband money, and he will pay Wetter off.” 

“Ah, perhaps he will then ; he is curious, W etter. 
But I shan’t kiss him. I am very well as I am.” 

“Happy?” 

“Yes; at least I should be, if it were not for 
Struboff. He annoys me very much. You know, 
it’s like an ugly picture in the room, or a dog one 
hates. He doesn’t say or do much, but he’s there 
always. It frets me.” 

“ Madame, my sympathy is extreme.” 

“ Oh, your sympathy ! You’re laughing at me. 
I don’t care. You’re going to be married your- 
seif.” 

“ What you imply is not very reassuring.” 

311 


THE KING S MIRROR 


“ It’s all a question of what one expects,” she 
said with a shrug. 

“ My wife won’t mind me touching her bread ? ” 
I asked anxiously. 

“Oh, no, she won’t mind that. You’re not like 
that. Oh, no, it won’t be in that way.” 

“ I declare I’m much comforted.” 

“ Indeed you needn’t fear that. In some things 
all women are alike. You needn’t fear anything 
of that sort. No woman could feel that about 
you.” 

“ I grow happier every moment. I shouldn’t 
have liked Elsa to cut herself another slice.” 

Coralie laughed, sniffed the roses I had brought, 
and laughed again, as she said : 

“In fact I do. I remember it now. I didn’t 
mean to be rude ; it came natural to do it ; as if 
the piece had fallen on the floor, you know.” 

Evidently Struboff had analysed his wife’s feel- 
ings very correctly. I doubted both the use and 
the possibility of enlightening her as to his. Kisses 
were not in the bargain, she would say. After all, 
the desire for affection was something of an incon- 
gruity in Struboff, an alien weed trespassing on the 
ground meant for music and for money. I could 
hardly blame her for refusing to foster the intruder. 
I felt that I should be highly unjust if, later on, I 
laid any blame on Elsa for not satisfying a desire 
for affection should I chance to feel such a thing. 
And as to the bread Coralie had quite reassured 
me. I looked at her. She was smiling in quiet 
amusement. Evidently her fancy was tickled by 
the matter of the bread. 

“ You notice a thing like that,” she said. “ But 
he doesn’t. Imagine his noticing it ! ” 

312 


WHAT A QUESTION! 


“ I can imagine it very well.” 

“ Oh no, impossible. He has no sensibility. 
You laugh ? Well, yes, perhaps it’s lucky.” 

During the next two or three days I was en- 
gaged almost unintermittently with business which 
followed me from home, and had no opportunity 
of seeing more of my friends. I regretted this the 
less, because I seemed now to be possessed of the 
state of affairs. I resigned myself to the necessity 
of a speedy return to Forstadt. Already Bederhof 
was in despair at my absence, and excuses failed 
me. I could not tell him that to return to For- 
stadt was to begin the preparations for execution ; 
a point at which hesitation must be forgiven in the 
condemned. But before I went I had a talk with 
Wetter. 

He stormed Vohrenlorf’s defences and burst into 
my room late one night. 

“ So were going back, sire ? ” he cried. “ Back 
to our work, back to harness ? ” 

“ You’re going too ? ” I asked quietly. 

He threw back his hair from his forehead. 

“Yes, I too,” he said. “ Struboff has paid me 
off ; I have played, I have won, I am rich, I desire 
to serve my country. You don’t appear pleased, 
sire ? ” 

“ When you serve your country, I have to set 
about saving mine,” said I dryly. 

“ Oh, you’ll be glad of the distraction of public 
affairs,” he sneered. 

“ Madame Mansoni- Struboff has not fulfilled 
my hopes of her. I thought you’d have no leisure 
for politics for a long while to come.” 

“ The pupil of Hammerfeldt speaks to me,” he 
said with a smile. “You would be right, very 
313 


THE KING’S MIRROR 

likely, but for the fact that madame has dismissed 
me.” 

“You use a conventional phrase ? ” 

“ Well then, she has — well, yes, I do use a con- 
ventional phrase.” 

“ I shall congratulate M. StrubofF on an increased 
tranquillity.” 

The evening was chilly, and I had a bit of fire. 
Wetter sat looking into it, hugging his knees and 
swaying his body to and fro. I stood on the 
hearth-rug by him. 

“I have still time,” he said suddenly. “I’m a 
young man. I can do something still.” 

“You can turn me out, you think? ” 

“ I don’t want to turn you out.” 

“ Use me, perhaps ? ” 

“ Tame you, perhaps.” 

I looked down at him and I laughed. 

“ Why do you laugh ? ” he asked. “ I thought 
I should have roused that sleeping dignity of 
yours.” 

“ Oh, my friend,” said I, “ you will not tame me, 
and you will not do great things.” 

“ Why not ? ” he asked, briefly and brusquely. 

“You’ll play again, you’ll do some mad prank, 
some other woman will — let us stick to our phrase 
— will not dismiss you. When an irresistible force 
encounters an immovable object — You know the 
old puzzle ? ” 

“ Interpret your parable, O King ! ” 

“ When a great brain is joined to an impossible 
temper — result ? ” 

“ The result is nothing,” said he, taking a fresh 
grip of his knees. 

“ Even so, even so,” I nodded. 

314 


WHAT A QUESTION! 


“ But I have done things,” he persisted. 

“ Yes, and then undone them. My friend, you’re 
a tragedy.” And I lit a cigarette. 

He sat where he was for a moment longer ; then 
he sprang up with a loud laugh. 

“A tragedy! A tragedy! If I make one, by 
Heaven the world is rich in them ! Take Struboff 
for another. But your Majesty is wrong. I’m a 
farce.” 

“Yes, you’re a bit of a farce,” said I. 

He laid his hand on my arm and looked full and 
long in my face. 

“So you’ve made your study of us?” he asked. 
“ Oh, I know why you came to Paris ! Coralie, 
StrubufF, myself — you have us all now ? ” 

“ Pretty well,” said I. “To understand people is 
both useful and interesting ; and to a man in my 
position it has the further attraction of being dif- 
ficult.” 

“ And you think Bederhof is too strong for me? ” 

“ He is stupid and respectable. My dear Wet- 
ter, what chance have you ? ” 

“ There’s a river in this town. Shall I jump in? ” 

“ Heavens, no ! You’d set it all a-hissing and 
a-boiling.” 

“ To-night, sire, I thought of killing Struboff.” 

“ Ah, yes, the pleasures of imagination ! I often 
indulge in them.” 

“ Then a bullet for myself.” 

“ Of course ! And another impresario for Co- 
ralie ! You must look ahead in such matters.” 

“ It would have made a great sensation.” 

“ Everywhere, except in the bosom of Coralie.” 

“ Your cleverness robbed the world of that other 
sensation long ago. If I had killed you ! ” 

315 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ It would have been another — another impres- 
ario for my Princess.” 

“We shall meet at Forstadt ? You’ll ask me to 
the wedding? ” 

“ Unless you have incurred Princess Heinrich’s 
anger.” 

“ I tell you I’m going to settle down.” 

‘‘Never,” said I. 

“ Be careful, sire. The revolver I bought for 
Struboff is in my pocket.” 

“ Make me a present of it,” I suggested. 

He looked hard in my eyes, laughed a little, drew 
out a small revolver, and handed it to me. 

“ Struboff was never in great danger,” he said. 

“ I was never much afraid for Struboff, ” said I. 
“ Thanks for the revolver. You’re not quibbling 
with me ? ” 

“ I don’t understand.” 

“ There’s no river in this town ; no institution 
called the Morgue ? ” 

“ Not a trace of such things. Do you know why 
not?” 

“ Because it’s the king’s pleasure,” said I, smiling 
and holding out my hand to him. 

“ Because I’m a friend to a friend,” he said, as he 
took my hand. Then without another word he 
turned and walked out quickly. I heard him speak 
to Vohrenlorf in the outer room, and laugh loudly 
as he ran down the stairs. 

He had reminded me that I was a pupil of Ham- 
merfeldt’s. The reminder came home to me as a re- 
proach. I had been forgetful of the Prince’s les- 
sons; I had allowed myself to fall into a habit of 
thought which led me to assume that my happiness 
or unhappiness was a relevant consideration in judg- 
316 


WHAT A QUESTION! 


ing of the merits of the universe. The assumption 
is so common as to make us forget that so far from 
being proved it is not even plausible. I saw the 
absurdity of it at once, in the light of my recent dis- 
coveries. Was God shamed because Struboffwas 
miserable, because Coralie was serenely selfish, be- 
cause Wetter was tempestuous beyond rescue ? I 
smiled at all these questions, and proceeded to the 
inference that the exquisite satisfaction of my own 
cravings was probably not an inherent part of the 
divine purpose. That is, if there were such a thing ; 
and if there were not, the whole matter was so purely 
accidental as not to admit of any one consideration 
being in the least degree more or less relevant than 
another. “ Willingly give thyself up to Clotho, al- 
lowing her to spin thy thread into whatever things 
she pleases.” That was an extremely good maxim ; 
but it would have been of no service to cast the pearl 
before Coralie’s impresario. I would use it myself, 
though. I summoned Vohrenlorf. 

“We have stayed here too long, Vohrenlorf,” 
said I. “ My presence is necessary in Forstadt. I 
must not appear wanting in interest in these prepa- 
rations.” 

“ Undoubtedly,” said he, “ they are very anxious 
for your Majesty’s return.” 

“And I am very anxious to return. We’ll go 
by the evening train to-morrow. Send word to Be- 
derhof.” 

He seemed rather surprised and not very pleased, 
but promised to see that my orders were executed. 
I sat down in the chair in which W etter had sat, and 
began again to console myself with my Stoic maxim. 
But there was a point at which I stuck. I recalled 
Coralie and her bread, and regarded Struboff not in 
21 317 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


the aspect of his own misery (which I had decided 
to be irrelevant), but in the light of Coralie’s feelings. 
It seemed to me that the philosopher should have 
spared more consideration to this side of the matter. 
Had he reached such heights as to be indifferent not 
only to his own sufferings, but to being a cause of 
suffering to others ? Perhaps Marcus Aurelius had 
attained to this; Coralie Mansoni, by the way, 
seemed most blessedly to have been born into it. To 
me it was a stone of stumbling. Pride came to me 
with insidious aid and admired while I talked of 
Clotho ; but where was my ally when I pictured 
Elsa also making her surrender to the Fates ? My 
ally then became my enemy. With a violent wrench 
I brought myself to the thought that neither was 
Elsa’s happiness a relevant consideration. It would 
not do, I could not maintain the position. For Elsa 
was young, fresh, aspiring to happiness as a plant 
rears its head to the air. And our wedding was but 
a fortnight off. 

“ Am I repulsive, am I loathsome ? ” 

“ What a question, my dear M. Struboff ! ” 

I had that snatch of talk in my head when I fell 
asleep. 

The next day but one found me back at Forstadt. 
They had begun to decorate the streets. 


318 


CHAPTER XXV 


A SMACK OF REPETITION 

The contrast of outer and inner, of the world’s my- 
self and my own myself, of others as they seem to 
me and to themselves (of the reality they may be, 
through inattention or dulness, as ignorant as I), 
which is the most permanent and the dominant im- 
pression that life has stamped on my mind, was never 
more powerfully brought home to me than in the 
days which preceded my marriage to my cousin Elsa. 
As I have said, they had begun to decorate the 
streets ; let me summarise all the rest by repeating 
that they decorated the streets, and went on decorat- 
ing them. The decorative atmosphere enveloped all 
external objects, and wrapped even the members of 
my own family in its spangled cloud. Victoria 
blossomed in diamonds, William Adolphus sprouted 
in plumes ; my mother embodied the stately, Cousin 
Elizabeth a gorgeous heartiness; the Duke’s eyes 
wore a bored look, but the remainder of his person 
was fittingly resplendent. Bederhof was Bumble in 
Olympus ; beyond these came a sea of smiles, bows, 
silks, and uniforms. Really I believe that the whole 
thing was done as handsomely as possible, and the 
proceedings are duly recorded in a book of red 
leather, clasped in gold and embellished with many 
pictures, which the Municipality of Forstadt pre- 
sented to Elsa in remembrance of the auspicious 
event. It lies now under a glass case, and, I under- 
319 


THE KING S MIRROR 


stand, excites much interest among ladies who come 
to see my house. 

Elsa was a puzzle no longer; I should have wel- 
comed more complexity of feeling. The month 
which had passed since we parted had brought to 
her many reflections, no doubt, and as a presumable 
result of them a fixed attitude of mind. William 
Adolphus would have said (and very likely did say 
to Victoria) that she had got used to me; but this 
mode of putting the matter suffers from my brother- 
in-law’s bluntness. She had not defied Clotho, but 
neither had she altogether given herself up to 
Clotho. She had compromised with the Formi- 
dable Lady, and, although by no means enraptured, 
seemed to be conscious that she might have come 
off worse. What was distasteful in Clotho’s terms 
Elsa attempted to reduce to insignificance by a dis- 
ciplined arrangement of her thoughts and emotions. 
Much can be done if one will be firm with would- 
be vagrants of the mind. The pleasant may be 
given prominence ; the disagreeable relegated to 
obscurity ; the attractive installed in the living 
apartments ; the repellant locked in a distant cellar, 
whence their ill-conditioned cries are audible occa- 
sionally only and in the distance. What might 
have been is sternly transformed from a beautiful 
vision into a revolting peril, and in this new shape 
is invoked to applaud the actual and vilify what is 
impossible. This attitude of mind is thought so 
commendable as to have won for itself in popular 
speech the name of philosophy — so even with words 
Clotho works her will. Elsa, then, in this peculiar 
sense of the term was philosophical about the busi- 
ness. She was balanced in her attitude, and, left 
to herself, would maintain equilibrium. 

320 


A SMACK OF REPETITION 

“ She’s growing fonder and fonder of you every 
day,” Cousin Elizabeth whispered in my ear. 

“ I hope,” said I, with a reminiscence, “ that I 
am not absolutely repulsive to her.” And in order 
not to puzzle Cousin Elizabeth with any glimmer 
of truth I smiled. 

46 My dearest Augustin ” (that she seemed to say 
“ Struboff ” was a childish trick of my imagination), 
“ what an idea ! ” (“ What a question, my dear M. 

Struboff!”) 

I played too much, perhaps, with my parallel, but 
I was not its slave. I knew myself to be unlike 
Struboff (in my case Coralie scouted the idea of a 
fresh slice of bread). I knew Elsa to be of very 
different temperament from Coralie’s. These vari- 
ances did not invalidate the family likeness ; a son 
may be very like his father, though the nose of one 
turns up and the other’s nose turns down. W e were, 
after making all allowances for superficial differ- 
ences — we were both careers, Struboff and I. I 
need none to point out to me my blunder ; none to 
say that I was really fortunate and cried for the 
moon. It is admitted. I was offered a charming 
friendship ; it was not enough. I could give a 
tender friendship ; I knew that it was not enough. 

And there was that other thing which went to 
my heart, that possibility which must ever be denied 
realisation, that beginning doomed to be thwarted. 
As we were talking once of all who were to come 
on the great day, I saw suddenly a little flush on 
Elsa’s cheek. She did not look away or stammer, 
or make any other obvious concession to her em- 
barrassment, but the blush could not be denied 
access to her face and came eloquent with its 
hint. 


321 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ And M. de Varvilliers — he will be there, I sup- 
pose ? ” she asked. 

“ I hope so ; I have given directions that he shall 
be invited. You like him, Elsa? ” 

“Yes,” she said, not looking at me now, but 
straight in front of her, as though he stood there in 
his easy, heart-stealing grace. And for an instant 
longer the flush flew his flag on her cheek. 

But StrubofF had been so mad as to fall in love 
with Coralie, and to desire her love out of no com- 
passion for her but sheerly for itself. Was I not 
spared this pang ? I do not know whether my 
state were worse or better. For with him, even in 
direst misery, there would be love’s own mad hope, 
that denial of impossibility, that dream of marvel- 
lous change which shoots across the darkest gloom 
of passion. Or at least he could imagine her lov- 
ing as he loved, and thereby cheat the wretched 
thing that was. I could not. In dreary truth, I 
was toward her as she toward me, and before us 
both there stretched a lifetime. If an added sting 
were needed, I found it in a perfectly clear con- 
sciousness that a great many people would have 
been absolutely content, and, as onlookers of our 
case, would have wondered what all the trouble 
was about. There are those who from a fortunate 
want of perception are called sensible ; just as Elsa 
by her resolute evasion of truth would be accorded 
the title of philosophical. 

Victoria was the prophet of the actual, picking 
out with optimistic eye its singular abundance of 
blessedness. I do not think that she reminded me 
that Elsa might have had but one eye, one leg, or a 
crooked back, but her felicitations ran on this strain. 
Their obvious artificiality gave them the effect of 
322 


A SMACK OF REPETITION 


sympathy, and Victoria would always sanction this 
interpretation by a kiss on departure. But she had 
her theory; it was that Elsa only needed to be 
wooed. The “ only ” amused me, but even with 
that point waived I questioned her position. It 
left out imagination, and it left out Varvilliers, who 
had become imagination’s pet. Nevertheless, Vic- 
toria spoke out of experience ; she did not blush at 
declaring herself “ after all very comfortable ” with 
William Adolphus. Granted the argument’s sin- 
cerity, its force could not be denied with honesty. 

“ We’re not romantic, and never have been, of 
course,” she conceded. 

“ My dear Victoria, of course not,” said I, laugh- 
ing openly. 

“We have had our quarrels.” 

“The quarrels wouldn’t trouble me in the least.” 

“We don’t expect too much of one another.” 

“I seem to be listening to the address on the 
wedding-day.” 

“You’re an exasperating creature !” and with 
that came the kiss. 

Victoria’s affection was always grateful to me, 
but in the absence of Wetter and Varvilliers, neither 
of whom had made any sign as yet, I was bereft of 
all intellectual sympathy. I had looked to find 
some in the Duke, and some, as I believe, there 
was ; but its flow was checked and turned by what 
I must call a repressed resentment. His wife’s 
blind heartiness was impossible to him, and he read 
with a clear eye the mind of a loved daughter. 
With him also I ranked as a necessity ; so far as 
the necessity was distasteful to Elsa, it was unpala- 
table to him. Beneath his friendliness, and side by 
side with an unhesitating acceptance of the position, 
323 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


there lay this grudge, not acknowledged, bound to 
incur instant absurdity as the price of any open as- 
sertion of itself, but set in his mind and affecting 
his disposition toward me. He was not so foolish 
as to blame me ; but I was to him the occasion of 
certain fears and shrinkings, possibly of some 
qualms as to his own part in the matter, and thus I 
became a less desired companion. There was some- 
thing between us, a subject always present, never 
to be mentioned. As a result, there came con- 
straint. My pride took alarm, and my polite dis- 
tance answered in suitable terms to his reticent 
courtesy. I believe, however, that we found one 
common point in a ludicrous horror of Cousin Eliza- 
beths behaviour. Had she assumed the air she 
wore, she must have ranked as a diplomatist ; hav- 
ing succeeded in the great task of convincing her- 
self, she stands above those who can boast only of 
deceiving others. To Cousin Elizabeth the alliance 
was a love match ; had she possessed the other 
qualities, her self-persuasion would have been 
enough to enable her to found a religious sect and 
believe that she was sent from heaven for its 
prophet. 

Amid this group of faces, all turned toward the 
same object but with expressions subtly various, I 
spent my days, studying them all, and finding (here 
has been natures consolation to me) relief from 
my own thoughts in an investigation of the mind 
of others. The portentous pretence on which we 
were engaged needed perhaps a god to laugh at it, 
but the smaller points were within the sphere of 
human ridicule ; with them there was no danger of 
amusement suffering a sudden death, and a swift 
resurrection in the changed shape of indignation. 

324 


A SMACK OF REPETITION 


There was already much to laugh at, but now a 
new occasion came, taking its rise in a thing which 
seemed very distinct, and appertaining to moods and 
feelings long gone by, a plaything of memory des- 
tined (as it had appeared) to play no more part in 
actual life. The matter was simply this : Count 
Max von Sempach was on leave, and proposed 
with my permission to be in Forstadt for the wed- 
ding festivities. 

Bederhof had heard legendary tales ; his manner 
was dubious and solemn as he submitted the Count’s 
proposal to me ; Princess Heinrich’s carelessness of 
reference would have stirred suspicion in the most 
guileless heart ; William Adolphus broke into winks 
and threatened nudges ; I invoked my dignity just in 
time. Victoria was rather excited, rather pleased, 
looking forward to an amusing spectacle. Evidently 
something had reached Cousin Elizabeth’s ears, for 
she overflowed with unspoken assurances that the 
news was of absolutely no importance, that she took 
no notice of boyish follies, and did not for a moment 
doubt my whole-hearted devotion to Elsa. Elsa 
herself betrayed consciousness only by not catching 
my eye when the Sempachs’ coming cropped up in 
conversation. For my own part I said that I should 
be very glad to see the Count and the Countess, 
and that they had a clear claim to their invitation. 
My mother’s manner had shown that she felt herself 
in no position to raise objections; Bederhof took 
my commands with resigned deference. I was aware 
that his wife had ceased to call on the Countess 
some time before Count Max went as Ambassador 
to Paris. 

Max had done his work very well — his appoint- 
ment has been quoted as an instance of my preco- 
325 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


cious insight into character — and his work did not 
appear to have done him any harm. When he called 
on me I found him the same sincere, simple fellow 
that he had been always. By consent we talked of 
private affairs, rather than of business. He told 
me that Tote was growing into a tall girl, that his 
other children also shot up, but (he added proudly) 
his wife did not look a day older, and her ap- 
pearance had, if anything, improved. She had 
been happy at Paris, he said, “ but, to be sure, she’d 
be happy anywhere with the children and her 
home.” The modesty of the last words did not 
conceal his joyous confidence. I felt very kindly 
toward him. 

“ Really you’re an encouragement to me at this 
moment,” I said. “ You must take me to see the 
Countess.” 

“ She will be most honored, sire.” 

“ I’d much rather she’d be a little pleased.” 

He laughed in evident gratification, assuring me 
that she would be very pleased. He answered for 
her emotions in the true style of the blessed partner ; 
that is an incident of matrimony which I am content 
to have escaped. I doubted very much whether 
she were so eager for the renewal of my acquaint- 
ance as he declared. I recollected the doubts and 
fears that had beset her vision of that event long 
ago. But my part was plain — to go, and to go 
speedily. 

“ To the Countess ? ” exclaimed Victoria, to 
whom I mentioned casually my plans for the after- 
noon. “You’re in a great hurry, Augustin.” 

“ It’s no sign of hurry to go to a place at the 
right time,” said I, with a smile. 

“ I don’t call it quite proper. ’ 9 
326 


A SMACK OF REPETITION 


“ I go because it is proper.” 

44 If you flirt with her again ” 

“ My dear Victoria, what things you suggest ! ” 

Victoria returned to her point. 

44 1 see no reason why you should rush off there 
all in a minute,” she persisted. 

Nevertheless I went, paying the tribute of a laugh 
to the picture of Victoria flying with the news to 
Princess Heinrich. But the Princess’s eye could 
tell a real danger from an imaginary one ; she would 
not mind my seeing the Countess now. 

I went quite privately, without notice, and was 
not expected. Thus it happened that I was ushered 
into the drawing-room when the Countess was not 
there to receive me. There I found Tote undeniably 
long-legged and regrettably shy. The world had 
begun to set its mark on her, and she had discovered 
that she did not know how to behave to me. I was 
sorry not to be pleasant company for Tote ; but, 
perceiving the fact too plainly to resist it, I sent her 
off to hasten her mother. She had not been gone a 
moment before the Countess came in hurriedly with 
apologies on her lips. 

Not a day older! O my dear Max! Shall we 
pray for this blindness, or shall we not ? She was 
older than she had been, older than by now she 
should be. Yet her charm hung round her like a 
fine stuff that defies time, and a gentle kindness 
graced her manner. We began to talk about any- 
thing and nothing. She showed fretful dread of a 
pause ; when she spoke she did not look me in the 
face. I could not avoid the idea that she did not 
want me, and would gladly see me take my leave. 
But such a feeling was, as it seemed to me, inhuman 
— a falseness to our true selves, born of some con- 
327 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


vention, or of a scruple overstrained, or of a fear 
not warranted. 

“ Have you seen Elsa?” I asked presently, and 
perhaps rather abruptly. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ I was presented to her. She 
was very sweet and kind to me.” 

“ She’s that to me, too,” I said, rising and stand- 
ing by her chair. 

She hesitated a moment, then looked up at me ; 
I saw emotion in her eyes. 

“ You’ll be happy with her? ” she asked. 

“ If she isn’t very unhappy, I daresay I shan’t be.” 

“ Ah ! ” she said with a sort of despairing sigh. 

“ But I don’t suppose I should make anybody 
particularly happy.” 

“ Yes, yes,” she cried in low- voiced impetuosity. 

“ Yes, if ” She stopped. Fear was in her eyes 

now, and she scanned my face with a close, jealous 
intensity. I knew what her fear was, her own ex- 
pression of it echoed back across the years. She 
feared that she had given me occasion to laugh at 
her. I bent down, took her hand, and kissed it 
lightly. 

“ Perhaps, had all the world been different,” said 
I, with a smile. 

“ I’m terribly changed ? ” 

“No; not terribly, and not much. How has it 
been with you ? ” 

Her nervousness seemed to be passing off; she 
answered me in a sincere simplicity that would 
neither exaggerate nor hide. 

“All that is good, short of the best,” she said. 
“ And with you ? ” 

“ Shall I say all that is bad, short of the worst? ” 

“We shouldn’t mean very different things.” 

328 


A SMACK OF REPETITION 


44 No ; not very. I’ve done many foolish things.” 

44 Have you ? They all say that you fill your 
place well.” 

44 1 have paid high to do it.” 

44 What you thought high when you paid,” she 
said, smiling sadly. 

I would not do her the wrong of any pretence ; 
she was entitled to my honesty. 

44 1 still think it high,” I said, 44 but not too 

high-” 

44 Nothing is too high? ” 

44 But others must help to pay my score. You 
know that.” 

44 Yes, I know it.” 

44 And this girl will know it.” 

44 She wouldn’t have it otherwise.” 

44 1 know, I know, I know. She would not. 
It’s strange to have you here now.” 

44 Max would come. I didn’t wish it. Yet — ” 
She smiled for a moment and added : 44 Yet in a 
way I did wish it. I was drawn here. It seemed 
to concern me. Don’t laugh. It seemed to be 
part of my story, too ; I felt that I must be there 
to hear it. Are you laughing ? ” 

44 I’ve never laughed.” 

44 You’re good and kind and generous. No, I 
think you haven’t. I’m glad of it, because ” 

“Yes? Why?” 

44 Because even now I can’t,” she whispered. 
44 No, don’t think I mean — I mean a thing which 
would oblige you to laugh now. It’s all over, all 
over. But that it should have been, Augustin?” 
My name slipped from unconscious lips. 44 That it 
should have been isn’t bad to me ; it’s good. That’s 
wicked ? I can’t help it. It’s the thing — the thing 
329 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


of my life. I’ve no place like yours. I've nothing 
to make it come second. Ah, I’m forgetting again 
how old I am. How you always make me forget 
it ! I mustn’t talk like this.” 

“We shall never, I suppose, talk like this again. 
You go back to Paris ? ” 

“Yes, soon. I’m glad.” 

“ But it’s not hard to you now ? ” 

She seemed to reflect, as though she were anx- 
ious to give me an answer accurately true. 

“ Not very hard now,” she said at last, looking 
full at me. “Not very hard, but very constant, 
always with me. I love them all, all my folk. 
But it’s always there.” 

“ Y ou mean — What do you mean ? The thought 
of me ? ” 

“ Yes, or the thought that somehow I have just 
missed. I’m not miserable. And I like to dream 
— to be gorgeous, splendid, wicked in dreams.” 
She gave a laugh and pressed my hand for a mo- 
ment. “ Tote grows pretty,” she said. “ Don’t 
you think so ? ” 

“ Tote was unhappy with me, and I let her go. 
Yes, she’s pretty ; she won’t be like you, though.” 

“ I’ll appeal to you again in five, in ten years,” 
said she, smiling, pleased with my covert praise. 
“ Oh, it’s pleasant to see you again,” she went on a 
moment later. “ I’m a bad penitent. I wish I 
could be with you always. No, I am not dreaming 
now. I mean, just in Forstadt and seeing you.” 

“ A moment ago you were glad to go back to 
Paris.” 

“ Ah, you assume more ignorance of us than you 
have. Mayn’t I be glad of one thing and wish an- 
other?” 


A SMACK OF REPETITION 


“ True; and men can do that, too.” 

I felt the old charm of the quick word coming 
from the beautiful lips, the twofold appeal. Though 
passion was gone, pleasure in her remained ; my 
love was dead. As I sat there I wished it alive 
again ; I longed to be back in the storm of it, even 
though I must battle the storm again. 

“ After all,” she said, with a glance at me, “ I 
have my share in you. You can’t think of your 
life without thinking of me. I’m something to 
you. I’m one among the many foolish things — 
You don’t hate the foolish things? ” 

“ On my soul, I believe not one of them ; and if 
you’re one, I love one of them.” 

“ I like you to say that.” 

A long silence fell on us. The thing had not 
come in either of the fashions in which I had pic- 
tured it, neither in weariness nor in excitement. 
It came full with emotions, but emotions that were 
subdued shadows of themselves, of a mournful 
sweetness, bewailing their lost strength, yet shrink- 
ing from remembrance of it. Would we have gone 
back if we could? Now I could not answer the 
question. Yet we could weep, because to go back 
was impossible. But it was with a slight laugh that 
at last I rose to my feet to say good-bye. 

“ It’s like you always to laugh at the end,” she 
said, a little in reproach, but more, I think, in the 
pleasure of recognising what was part of her idea of 
me. “ You used often to do it, even when you 
were — even before. You remember the first time 
of all — when we smiled at one another behind your 
mother’s back ? That oldest memory comforts me. 
Do you know why ? I was never so many centuries 
older than you again. I’m not so many even now. 

331 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


You look old, I think, and seem old ; if were nearer 
together, it’s your fault, not my merit. Well, you 
must go. Ah, how you fill time ! How you could 
have filled a woman’s life ! ” 

“ Could have ? Your mood is right.” 

“ Surely she’ll be happy with you? If you could 
love her ? ” 

“ Not even then. I’m not to her measure.” 

“ Are you unhappy ? ” 

“ It’s better than the worst, a great deal better. 
Good-bye.” 

I pressed her hand and kissed it. With a sudden, 
seeming formality she courtesied and kissed mine. 

“ I don’t forget what you are,” she said, “ be- 
cause I have fancied you as something besides. 
Good-bye, sire. Good-bye, Augustin.” 

“ There’s a name wanting.” 

“ Ah, to Csesar I said good-bye five years ago.” 
The tears were in her eyes as I turned away and 
left her. 

I had a fancy to walk back alone, as I had 
walked alone from her house on the day when I 
cut the bond between us that same five years ago. 
Having dismissed my carriage, I set out in the 
cool of the autumn evening as dusk had just 
fallen, and took my way through the decorated 
streets. Only three days more lay between the 
decorations and the occasion they were meant to 
grace. There was a hum of gaiety through all the 
town; they had begun their holiday- making, and 
the shops did splendid trade. They in Forstadt 
would have liked to marry me every year. Why 
not ? I was to them a sign, a symbol, something 
they saw and spoke of, but not a man. I reviewed 
the troops every year. Why should I not be mar- 
332 


A SMACK OF REPETITION 


ried every year ? It would be but the smallest ex- 
tension of my functions, and all on the lines of 
logic. I could imagine Princess Heinrich accord- 
ing amplest approval to the scheme. 

Suddenly, as I passed in meditation through a 
quiet street, a hand was laid on my shoulder. I 
knew only one man who would stop me in that 
way. Was he here again, risen again, in Forstadt 
again, for work, or mirth, or mischief? He came 
in fitting with the visit I had paid. I turned and 
found his odd, wry smile on me, the knit brows 
and twinkling eyes. He lifted his hat and tossed 
back the iron-gray hair. 

44 1 am come to the wedding, sire,” said he, 
bowing. 

44 It would be incomplete without you, Wetter.” 

4 4 And for another thing — for a treat, for a spec- 
tacle. They’ve written an epithalamium, haven’t 
they? ” 

44 Yes, some fool, according to his folly.” 

44 It is to be sung at the opera the night before ? 
At the gala performance ! ” 

44 You’re as well up in the arrangements as 
Bederhof himself.” 

44 1 have cause. Whence come you, sire? ” 

44 From paying a visit to the Countess von Sem- 
pach.” 

He burst into a laugh, but the look in his eyes 
forbade me to be offended. 

44 That’s very whimsical, too,” he observed. 
44 There’s a smack of repetition about this. Is fate 
hard- up for new effects ? ” 

44 There’s variety enough here for me. There 
were no decorations in the streets when I left her 
before.” 


22 


333 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


44 True, true ; and — for I must return to my 
tidings — I bring you something new.” He paused 
and enjoyed his smile at me. 44 Who sings the 
marriage-song ? ” he asked. 

44 Heavens, man, I don’t know ! I’m not the 
manager. What is it to me who sings the song ? ” 

“You would like it sung in tune? ” 

44 Oh, unquestionably.” 

44 Ah, well, she sings in tune, ” he said, nodding 
his head with an air of satisfaction. “She is not 
emotional, but she sings in tune.” 

44 Does she, Wetter ? Who is she ? ” 

He stood looking at me for a moment, then 
broke into another laugh. I caught him by the 
arm ; now I laughed myself. 

44 No, no?” I cried. 44 Fate doesn’t joke, Wet- 
ter?” 

44 Fate jokes,” said he. 44 It is Coralie who will 
sing your song. To-morrow they reach here, she 
and Struboff. Yes, sire, Coralie is to sing your 
song.” 

We stood looking at one another; we both were 
laughing. 44 It’s a great chance in her career,” he 
said. 

44 It’s rather a curious chance in mine,” said I. 

44 She sings it, she sings it,” he cried, and with a 
last laugh turned and fairly ran away down the 
street, like a mischievous boy who has thrown his 
squib and flies from the scene in mirthful fear. 

When Fortune jested she found in him quick- 
witted, loving audience. 


334 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE SECRET OF THE COUNTESS 

Princess Heinrich held a reception of all sorts 
and conditions of those in Forstadt who were re- 
ceivable. So comprehensive was the party that to 
be included conveyed no compliment, to be left 
out meant a slap in the face. But the scene was 
gorgeous, and the Princess presided over it with 
fitting dignity. Elsa and I stood by her for a 
while, all in our buckram, living monuments of 
bliss and exaltedness. It was like a prolonged 
interview with the photographer. Then I slipped 
away and paid marked and honorific courtesy to 
Bederhof’s wife and Bederhof’s daughters, tall girls, 
not over-quick to be married, somehow quite in- 
evitable if one considered Bederhof himself. Rising 
from my plunge, I looked round for Elsa. She 
had left my mother and taken a seat in a recess by 
the window. There she sat, looking, poor soul, 
rather weary, speaking now and then to those who, 
in passing by, paused to make their respects and 
compliments to her. She wore my diamonds ; all 
eyes were for her; the streets were splendidly 
decorated. Was she content? With all my heart 
I hoped that she was. 

People came and buzzed about me, and I buzzed 
back to them. I had learned to buzz, I believe, 
with some grace and facility, certainly with an al- 
most entire detachment of my inner mind ; it would 
be intolerable for the real man to be engrossed in 
335 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


such performances. Looking over the head of the 
President of the Court of Appeal (he was much 
shorter than his speeches), I saw Elsa suddenly 
lean forward and sign with her fan to a lady who 
passed by. The lady stopped; she sat down by 
Elsa ; they entered into conversation. For a while 
I went on buzzing and being buzzed to, but pres- 
ently curiosity conquered me. 

“In the pleasure of your conversation I musn’t 
forget what is my first duty just now, gentlemen,” 
I said with a smile. 

They dissolved from in front of me with discreet 
smiles. I sauntered toward the recess where Elsa 
sat. Glancing at Princess Heinrich, I saw her 
watching all that went forward, but she was 
hemmed in by eminent persons. And why should 
she interpose, if Elsa desired to talk to the Coun- 
tess von Sempach ? 

I leaned over the arm of my betrothed’s chair. 
They were talking of common affairs. From where 
I was I could not see Elsa’s face, so I moved and 
stood leaning on a third chair between them. The 
Countess was gay and brilliant ; kind also, with a 
tenderness that seemed to throw out feelers for 
friendship. To me she spoke only when I ad- 
dressed her directly ; her attention was all for Elsa. 
In Elsa’s eyes, not skilled to conceal her heart, 
there was, overpowering all other expression, a cu- 
riosity, a study of something that interested and 
puzzled her, a desire to understand the woman who 
talked to her. For Elsa had heard something ; 
not all, but something. She was not hostile or 
disturbed; she was gracious and eager to please; 
but she was inquiring and searching. At her 
heart ’s bidding her wits were on the move. I knew 
336 


THE SECRET OF THE COUNTESS 


the maze that they explored. She was asking for 
the Countess’ secret ? But which secret ? For to 
her it might well seem that there were two. Ru- 
mour said that I had loved the Countess. It would 
be in the way of the natural woman for Elsa to de- 
sire to find out why, the trick of the charm that a 
predecessor (let the word pass) had wielded. But 
rumour said also that the Countess had loved me. 
W as this the deeper, harder secret that Elsa sought 
to probe, this the puzzle to which she asked an an- 
swer ? Perhaps, could she find an answer that satis- 
fied, there would be new heaven and new earth for 
her. Here seemed to me the truth, the reason of the 
longing question in her eyes. Jealousy could not 
inspire that ; certainly not a jealousy of what was 
long gone by, of a woman who to Elsa’s fresh girl- 
hood must be faded and almost sunk to middle 
age. “ How did you contrive to love him ? ” That 
was Elsa’s question, asked beneath my understand- 
ing gaze. 

There was a little stir by the door, and a man 
came through the group that loitered round it, 
hastily shaking hands here, nodding there, as he 
steered his course toward Princess Heinrich. I 
knew that Varvilliers would come to the wedding, 
but had not been aware that he was already in 
Forstadt. My companions did not notice him, but 
I watched his interview with my mother. Even 
she unbent to him, disarmed by a courtesy that 
overcame the protest of her judgment; she detained 
him in conversation nearly ten minutes, and then 
pointed to where we were, directing him to join us. 

“Ah, here comes Varvilliers,” said I. “I’m 
delighted to have him back. You’ve met him, 
Countess ? ” 


337 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ Oh, yes, sire, in Paris,” she answered. 

For a few moments I kept my eyes from Elsa’s 
face and looked toward Varvilliers, smiling and 
beckoning. When I turned toward her she was 
bright and composed. He joined us, and she wel- 
comed him with cordiality. He launched on an 
account of his doings ; then came to our affairs, 
commiserating us on the trial of our ceremonies. 
For a while we talked all to all ; then I began to 
tell the Countess a little story. Varvilliers and 
Elsa fell into a conversation apart. She had made 
him sit by her. I bent down over my chair-back, 
to converse more easily with my Countess. All 
this was right enough, unless the talk were to con- 
tinue general. 

I do not know how long we went on thus ; some 
time I know it was. At last it chanced that the 
Countess made no answer to what I said, and 
leaned back in her chair with a thoughtful smile. 
I sighed, raised my head, and looked across the 
room. I heard the other two in animated talk and 
their gay laughter ; for the moment my mind was 
not on them. Suddenly Wetter passed in front of 
me ; he had once been President of the Chamber, 
and Princess Heinrich knew her duty. He was 
with William Adolphus, who seemed in extremely 
good spirits. Wetter paused opposite to me and 
bowed. I returned his salutation, but did not in- 
vite him to join us; I hoped to speak to him later. 
Thus it was for a bare instant that he halted. But 
what matters time ? Its only true measure lies in 
what a man does in it. Wetter ’s momentary halt 
was long enough for one of those glances of his to 
play over the group we made. From face to face 
it ran, a change of expression marking every stage. 

338 


THE SECRET OF THE COUNTESS 


It rested at last on me. I turned my head sharply 
toward Elsa ; her cheek was flushed ; her eyes glis- 
tened ; her body was bent forward in an eagerness 
of attention, as though she would not lose a word. 
Varvilliers was given over to the spirit of his talk, 
but he watched the sparks that he struck from her 
eyes. I glanced again at Wetter; William Adol- 
phus had seized his arm and urged him forward. 
For a second still he stood ; he tossed his hair back, 
laughed, and turned away. Why should he stay? 
He had said all that the situation suggested to 
him, and said it with his own merciless lucidity. 

I echoed his laugh. Mine was an interruption 
to their talk. Elsa started and looked up ; Var- 
villiers’ face turned to me. He looked at me for a 
moment, then a strange and most unusual air of 
embarrassment spread over him. The Countess 
did not speak, and her eyes were downcast. Var- 
villiers was himself again directly ; he began to 
speak of indifferent matters ; he was not so awk- 
ward as to let this incident be the occasion of his 
leave-taking. A minute or two passed. I looked 
at him and held out my hand. At the same in- 
stant the Countess asked a signal from Elsa, and 
it was given. We all stood together for a mo- 
ment, then they left us, she accepting his arm to 
cross the room. Elsa sat down again and did not 
speak. I found no words either, but leaned again 
over my chair, regarding the scene in absent mood- 
iness. I was thinking how odd a thing it was, and 
how perfect, that absolute contentment of the one 
with the other, that mutual sufficiency, that fitting 
in of each to each, that ultimate oneness of soul 
which is the block from which is hewn love’s image. 
And the block is there, though by fate’s caprice it 
339 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


lie unshaped. The thing had been between the 
Countess and myself ; its virtue had availed to 
abolish difference of years, to rout absurdity, to 
threaten the strongest resolution of my mind. It 
was between Elsa and Varvilliers. In none other 
had I found it for myself ; in none other would 
Elsa find it. It was not for her in me. Then in 
vain had been the questioning of her eyes, in vain 
the eager longing of her parted lips. She had not 
ears to hear the secret of the Countess. At this 
moment I forgot again that my, or even her, hap- 
piness was not a relevant consideration in forming 
a judgment of the universe. It is, in fact, a diffi- 
cult thing to remember. My pride was ablaze with 
hatred of being taken because I could not be re- 
fused. I was carried away by a sudden impulse. 
I threw myself into the chair by Elsa, saying : 

“ How it would surprise and scatter all these 
good people if you suddenly announced that you’d 
changed your mind, Elsa ! What a rout ! what a 
scurry ! What a putting out of lights, and a pull- 
ing down of poles, and a furling up of flags, and a 
countermanding of orders to the butcher and the 
baker ! Good heavens ! Think of my mother’s 
face, or, indeed, of your mother’s face ! Think of 
Bederhof s face, of everybody’s face ! ” And I fell 
to laughing. 

Elsa also laughed, but with a nervous discomfort. 
Her glance at me was short ; her eyes dropped again. 

“ What made you think of such a thing? ” she 
asked in a hesitating tone. 

“I don’t know,” said I. Then I turned and 
asked, “ Have you never thought of it ? ” 

“ Never, ” she said. “ Indeed, never. How 
could I ? ” 


340 


THE SECRET OF THE COUNTESS 


It was impossible to doubt the sincerity of her 
disclaimer. She seemed really shocked and amazed 
at the notion. 

66 And now ! To do it now ! When everything 
is ready ! ” She gave a pretty little gasp. “ And 
go back with mother to Bartenstein ! ” she went 
on, shaking her head in horror. “ How could you 
imagine it ? Fancy Bartenstein again ! ” 

Evidently I was preferable to Bartenstein again, 
to the narrow humdrum life there. No poles, 
no flags, no illuminations, no cheers, no dignity ! 
Diamonds even scarce and rare ! I tried to take 
heart. It was something to be better than Barten- 
stein again. 

“ And what would they think of me? Oh, it’s 
too absurd ! But of course you w T ere joking ? ” 

“Oh, not more than usual, Elsa. You might 
have found me even more tiresome than Barten- 
stein.” 

“ Nonsense ! It would always be better here than 
at Bartenstein.” 

Clearly there was no question in her mind on 
this point. Forstadt and I — let me share, since I 
may not engross the credit — were much better than 
going back to Bartenstein. 

She was looking at me with an uneasy, almost 
suspicious air. 

“ What made you ask that question ? ” she said 
abruptly. 

I looked round the room. Among the many 
groups in talk there were faces turned toward us, 
regarding us with a discreet, good-humored amuse- 
ment. The King forgot his duties and talked with 
his lady-love. Every moment buttressed the repu- 
tation of our love-match. Let it be so; it was 
341 


THE KINGS MIRROR 

best. Yet the sham was curiously unpleasant to 
me. 

“ Why did you ask me that question, Augustin? 
You had a reason ? ” 

“No, none; except that in forty-eight hours it 
will be too late to ask it.” 

She leaned toward me in agitated pleading. 

“ I do love you, Augustin. I love nobody so 
much as you — you and father.” 

I and father ! Poor girl, how she admitted while 
she thought to deny ! But I was full of a pity and 
a tenderness for her, and forgot my own pride. 

“Your so good to me; and there’s no reason 
why you should like me.” 

“ Like ? ” said I. “ A gentleman must pretend 
sometimes, or so it’s thought.” 

“ Yes. What do you mean ? ” Pleased coquetry 
gleamed for a moment in her eyes. “ Do you 
mean — love me ? ” 

“ It is impossible, is it ? ” I asked, and I looked 
into her eyes as though I desired her love. Well, 
I did, that she might have peace. 

She blushed, and suddenly, as it were by an 
uncontrollable, immediate impulse, glanced round. 
Whose face did she seek ? Was it not his who last 
had looked at her in that fashion ? He was not in 
sight. Her gaze fell downward. Ah, that you had 
been a better diplomatist, Elsa. For though a man 
may know the truth, he loves sometimes one who 
will deny it to him pleasantly. He gains thereby a 
respite and an intermission, the convict’s repose be- 
tween his turns on the treadmill or the hour’s flout- 
ing of hard life that good wine brings. But it was 
impossible to rear on stable foundations a Pleasure- 
House of Pretence. With every honest revelation 
342 


THE SECRET OF THE COUNTESS 


of her heart Elsa shattered it. I cannot blame 
her. I myself was at my analytic undermining. 

“ You’ll go on then ? ” I asked, with a laugh. 

She laughed for answer. The question seemed 
to her to need no answer. What, would she go 
back to Bartenstein — to insignificance, to dulness, 
and to tutelage ? Surely not ! 

“ But I’m not very like the grenadier,” I said. 

She understood me and flushed, relapsing into 
uneasiness. I saw that I had touched some chord 
in her, and I would willingly have had my words 
unsaid. Presently she turned to me, and, forgetting 
the gazers round, held out her arms to mine. Her 
eyes seemed dim. 

“Ill try — I’ll try to make you happy,” she said. 

And she said well. Letting all think what they 
would, I rose to my feet and bowed low over the 
hand that I kissed. Then I gave her my arm, and 
walked with her through the lane that they made 
for us. Surely we pretended well, for somehow, 
from somewhere, a cheer arose, and they cheered us 
as we walked through. Elsa’s face was in an in- 
stant bright again. She pressed my arm in a spasm 
of pleasure. We proceeded in triumph to where 
Princess Heinrich sat ; away behind her in the fore- 
most row of a group of men stood Wetter — Wetter 
leading the cheers, waving his handkerchief, grin- 
ning in charmingly diabolical fashion. The suita- 
bility of Princess Heinrich’s reception of us I must 
leave to be imagined ; it was among her triumphs. 

I fell at once into the clutches of Cousin Eliza- 
beth, my regard for whom was tempered by a pre- 
ference for more restraint in the display of emotion. 

“ My dearest boy,” she said, pulling me into a 
seat by her, “ I saw you. It makes me so happy.” 

343 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


A thing, without being exactly good in itself, 
may of course have incidental advantages. 

“ It was sure to happen. You were made for 
one another. Hear Elsa is young and shy, and — 
and she didn’t quite understand.” Cousin Eliza- 
beth looked almost sly. “ But now the weight is 
quite off my mind. Because Elsa doesn’t change.” 

“ Doesn’t she ? ” I asked. 

“ No, she’s constancy itself. Once she takes up 
a point of view, you know, or an impression of a 
person, nothing alters it. Dear me, we used to think 
her obstinate. Only everybody gave way to her. 
That was her father’s fault. He never would have 
her thwarted. But she’s turned out very well, hasn’t 
she? So I can’t blame him. I know your mother 
thought us rather lax.” 

“Ah, my mother was not lax.” 

“ It only shows there’s room for both ways, 
doesn’t it ? What was I saying ? ” 

I knew what she had been saying, but not which 
part of it she desired to repeat. However, she found 
it for herself in a moment. 

“Oh, yes! No, she never changes. Just what 
she is to you now she’ll be all her life. I never 
knew her to change. She just loves you or she 
doesn’t, and there it rests. You may feel quite 
safe.” 

4 ‘ How very satisfactory all this is, Cousin Eliza- 
beth ! ” 

“Satisfactory?” she exclaimed, with a momentary 
surprise at my epithet. But her theory came to the 
rescue. ‘ ‘ Oh, I know you always talk like that. 
W ell, I don’t expect you to talk like a lover to me. 
It’s quite enough if you do it to Elsa. Yes, it is — 
satisfactory, isn’t it ? ” The good creature laughed 
344 


THE SECRET OF THE COUNTESS 


heartily and squeezed my hand. “ She’ll never 
change,” she repeated once again in an ample, com- 
fortable contentment. 4 4 And you don’t mind show- 
ing what you feel, do you ? ” 

Cousin Elizabeth was chaffing me. 

44 On my word, I forgot how public we were,” 
said I. 44 My feelings ran away with me.” 

44 Oh, why should you be ashamed ? They might 
laugh, but I’m sure they envied you.” 

It was strange enough, but it was very likely that 
they did. For my own part, I have learned not to 
envy people without knowing a good deal about 
them and their affairs. 

44 Because,” pursued Cousin Elizabeth, 44 1 have 
always in my heart hated merely arranged mar- 
riages. They’re not right, you know, Augustin. 
They may be necessary, but they’re not right.” 

44 Very necessary, but quite wrong,” I agreed. 

44 And at one time I was the least bit afraid — 
However I was a silly old woman. Do look at her 
talking to your mother. Oh, of course, you were 
looking at her already. You weren’t listening to my 
chatter. ” 

But I had listened to Cousin Elizabeth’s chat- 
ter. She had told me something of interest. Elsa 
would never change ; she took a view and a relation 
toward a person and maintained them. What she 
was to me now she would be always. 

44 My dear cousin, I have listened with keen in- 
terest to every word that you’ve said,” I protested 
truthfully. 

44 That’s your politeness. I know what lovers 
are,” said Cousin Elizabeth. 

I looked across to the Duke’s passive, tired 
face. The thought crossed my mind that Cousin 
345 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


Elizabeth must have depended on observation 
rather than on experience for the impressions to 
which she referred. However she afforded me 
an opportunity for escape, which I embraced with 
alacrity. 

As I passed my mother she beckoned to me. 
Elsa had left her, and she was alone for the moment. 
It seemed that she had a word to say to me, and on 
the subject concerning which I thought it likely 
enough that she would have something to say — the 
engagement of Coralie to sing at the gala perform- 
ance. 

“Was there not some unpleasant talk about this 
Madame Mansoni ? ” she asked. 

“Well, there was talk,” said I, smiling and 
allowing my eyes to rest on the figure of William 
Adolphus, visible in the distance. “ It would have 
been better not to have her, perhaps. It can be 
altered, I suppose.” 

“ Bederhof sanctioned it without referring to you 
or to me. It has become public now.” 

“ Oh, I didn’t know that.” 

“ Yes ; it’s in the evening papers.” 

“ Any — any remarks ? ” 

“ No, except that the Vorwarts calls it an ex- 
traordinarily suitable selection.” 

“The Vorwarts? Yes,” said I thoughtfully. 
Wetter wrote for the Vorwarts. “ Perhaps then to 
cancel it would make more talk than to let it stand. 
The whole story is very old.” 

Princess Heinrich permitted a smile to appear 
on her face as with a wave of her fan she relegated 
Coralie to a proper insignificance. She was smiling 
still as she added : 

“There’s another old acquaintance coming to as- 
346 


THE SECRET OF THE COUNTESS 

sist at the wedding, Augustin. I telegraphed to ask 
her, and she has answered accepting the invitation 
in the warmest terms.” 

“ Indeed ! Who is that, pray ? ” 

64 The Baroness,” said my mother. 

I stared at her; then I cried with a laugh, 
“Krak? Not Krak ? ” 

“Yes, Krak, as you naughty children used to 
call her.” 

“ Good Heavens, does the world still hold 
Krak ? ” 

“ Of course. She’s rather an old woman, though. 
You’ll be kind to her, Augustin ? She was always 
very fond of you.” 

“I will treat Krak,” said I, “with all affec- 
tion.” 

Surely I would, for Krak’s coming put the crown 
of completeness on the occasion. But I was amazed ; 
Krak was utterly stuff of the past. 

My mother did not appear to desire my presence 
longer; I had to take up my own position and 
receive farewells. 

A dreary half hour passed in this occupation ; 
at last the throng grew thin. I broke away and 
sauntered off to a buffet for a sandwich and a glass 
of champagne. There I saw Wetter and Varvil- 
liers standing together and refreshing their jaded 
bodies. I joined them at once, full of the news 
about Krak. It fell rather flat, I regret to say ; Krak 
had not significance for them, and Wetter was full 
of wild, brilliant talk. Varvilliers’ manner, on the 
other hand, although displaying now no awkward- 
ness or restraint, showed unusual gentleness and 
gravity with an added friendliness very welcome to 
me. I stood between my friends, sipping my wine 
347 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


and detaining them, although the room was nearly 
empty. I felt a reluctance to part and an invincible 
repugnance to my bed. 

44 Come to my quarters,” I said, 46 and we’ll have 
cigars.” 

Varvilliers bowed ready assent. Wetter ’s face 
twisted into a smile. 

44 1 must plead excuse to the command,” he said. 

44 Then you’re a rascal, Wetter; I want you, man, 
and you ought not to be expected anywhere this 
time of night.” 

44 Not at home, sire? ” 

44 Home least of all,” said Varvilliers, smiling. 

44 But I have guests at home,” cried W etter. 
44 I’ve left them too long. But Her Royal High- 
ness didn’t invite them ; besides it was necessary to 
practise the song.” 

44 What ? Are they with you ? ” 

44 Should I send them to a hotel, sire ? My friends 
the Struboffs ! No, no! ” 

Sipping my wine, I looked doubtfully from one 
to the other. 

“The King,” observed Wetter to Varvilliers, 
44 would be interested in hearing a rehearsal of the 
song.” 

44 But,” said I, 44 Krak comes to-night, and I 
daren’t look as if I had sat up beyond my hour.” 

W etter laid his finger on my arm. 

44 One more night,” he said. Varvilliers laughed. 
44 1 have the same old servant. He’s very discreet ! ” 

44 But you’ll put it in the Vorwarts ! ” 

44 No, no, not if the meeting- place is my own 
house.” 

44 I’ll do it ! ” I cried. 44 Come, let’s have a car- 
riage.” 


348 


THE SECRET OF THE COUNTESS 


“ Mine waits,” said Varvilliers, “ at your disposal. 
I’ll see about it,” and off* he ran. Wetter turned 
to me. 

“An interesting quartette there in the recess,” 
said he. 

“ And an insolent fellow looking on at it,” said I. 

“I’ll write an article on your impulsive love- 
making before all the world.” 

“ Do ; I can conceive nothing more politic.” 

“ It shall teem with sincerity.” 

“Never a jest anywhere in it? Not one for 
me ? ” 

“ No. Jests are in place only when one tells the 
truth. A lie must be solemn, sire.” 

“ True. Write it to your mood.” 

And to his mood he wrote it, eloquently, beau- 
tifully, charged with the passion of that joy which 
he realised in imagination, but could not find in his 
stormy life. I read it two or three days later at 
Artenberg. 

“ Hey for the wedding-song and one night more ! ” 
he cried. 

We rolled off, we three, in Varvilliers’ carriage. 


23 


349 


CHAPTER XXVII 


OF GRAZES ON THE KNEE 

There was no doubt that they practised the mar- 
riage-song. Coralie’s voice echoed through the 
house as we entered. For a moment we paused in 
the hall to listen. Then W etter dashed up the stairs, 
crying, “ Good God ! Wooden, wooden, wooden ! ” 
W e followed him at a run ; he flung the door open 
and rushed in. Coralie broke off her singing and 
came to greet me with a little cry of pleased sur- 
prise. Strubofl* sat at the piano, looking rather be- 
wildered. Supper was spread on a table at the 
other end of the room. When Struboff tried to rise, 
Wetter thrust him back into his seat. “No, no, 
the King doesn’t want to talk to you,” he said. 
“ He wants to hear madame sing, to hear you play. 
Coralie, come and sing again, and, for God’s sake, 
sing it as if it meant something, dear Coralie.” 

“ It’s such nonsense,” said Coralie, with a pout- 
ing smile. 

“ Nonsense ? Then it needs all your efforts. As 
if — as if, I say — it meant something.” 

Varvilliers, laughing, flung himself on a sofa, I 
stood at the end of the piano, W etter was gesticu- 
lating and muttering on the hearthrug. Struboff 
put his fingers on the keys again and began to play ; 
after a sigh of weariness Coralie uplifted her voice. 
It came fresh and full; the weariness was of the 
spirit only. The piece was good, nay, very good ; 
there were feeling and passion in the music. I 
350 


OF GRAZES ON THE KNEE 


looked at Struboff. His fingers moved tenderly, 
tears stood in his little eyes. Coralie shouted per- 
fect notes in perfect heartlessness. 

“ My God ! ” muttered Wetter from the hearth- 
rug, and bounded across to her. He caught her by 
the arm. 

“ Feel, feel, feel ! ” he cried angrily. 

“ Don’t be so stupid,” said Coralie. 

“ She can’t feel it,” said Struboff, taking his hand- 
kerchief and wiping brow and eyes. 

“ She’s a fortunate woman,” remarked Varvilliers 
from his sofa. 

“You’d think she could,” said Wetter, taking 
both her hands and surveying her from top to toe. 
“You’d think she could understand. Look at her 
eyes, her brows, her lips. You’d think she could 
understand. Look at her hands, her waist, her neck. 
It’s a little strange, isn’t it ? See, she smiles at me. 
She has an adorably good temper. She doesn’t 
mind me in the least. It’s just that she happens 
not to be able to feel.” 

During all this outburst Struboff played softly 
and tenderly ; a large tear formed now in each of 
his eyes, and presently trickled over the swelling 
hillocks underneath his cheek bones, Coralie was 
smiling placidly at W etter, thinking him mad 
enough, but in no way put out by his criticism. 

“I can feel it,” said Wetter, in a whimsically 
puzzled tone. “Why should I feel it? I’m not 
young or beautiful ; and my voice is the worse for 
wear, because I’ve had to denounce the King so 
much. Nevertheless I can feel it.” 

“ You can make a big fool of yourself,” observed 
Coralie, breaking into a laugh and snatching her 
hands away from him. 


351 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


44 Yes, yes, yes, I should hope so,” he cried. “ She 
catches the point! Is there hope ? No, she won’t 
make a fool of herself. There’s no hope.” He sank 
into a chair with every appearance of dejection. 

“ I think it’s supper-time,” she said, moving 
toward the table. 44 What are you still playing 
for ? ” she called to Struboff. 

“Let him play,” said I. “Perhaps he would 
rather play than sup.” 

“ It’s very likely,” Coralie admitted with a shrug. 
Struboff looked at me for a moment, and nodded 
solemnly. He was playing low now, giving a plaint- 
ive turn to the music that had been joyful. 

“No, you shall try it once again,” cried Wetter, 
leaping up. “ Once again ! A verse of it ! I’ll 
stand opposite to you. See, like this ; and I’ll look 
at you. Now try ! ” 

She was very good-natured with him, and did as 
he bade her. He took his stand just by her, behind 
Struboff, and gazed into her face. I could see him ; 
his lips twitched, and his eyes were set on her in an 
ardour of passion. 

4 4 Look in my eyes and sing ! ” he commanded. 

44 Ah, you’re silly,” she murmured in her pleasant, 
lazy drawl. She threw out her chest, and filled the 
room with healthy, tuneful sound. 

44 Stop ! ” he cried. 44 Stop ! I can endure no more 
of it. Can you eat? Yes, you can eat. In God’s 
name, come and eat, dear Coralie.” 

Coralie appealed to me. 

44 Don’t you think I sing it very well ? ” she asked. 
44 1 can fill the Grand Opera House quite easily.” 

44 You sing it to perfection,” said I. 44 There’s 
nothing wrong, nothing at all. Wetter here is 
mad.” 


352 


OF GRAZES ON THE KNEE 


“ Wetter is certainly mad,” echoed Varvilliers, 
rising from the sofa. 

“ Wetter is damned mad,” said W etter. 

“Wetter is right — ah, so right,” came in a de- 
spairing grumble from poor Struboff, who still 
played away. 

“ To supper, to supper ! ” cried W etter. ‘ ‘ You’re 
right, all of you. And I’m right. And I’m mad. 
To supper! No, let Struboff play. Struboff, you 
want to play. Play on.” 

Struboff nodded again and played on. His notes, 
now plaintive, now triumphant, were the accom- 
paniment to our meal, filling the pauses, enriching, 
as it seemed, the talk. But Coralie was deep in 
foie gras, and paid no heed to them. Wetter en- 
gaged in some vehement discussion with Varvilliers, 
who met him with good-humored pertinacity. I 
had dropped out of the talk, and sat listening 
dreamily to Struboffs music. Suddenly Coralie 
laid down her knife and turned to me. 

“ Wouldn’t it be nice if I were going to be mar- 
ried to you ? ” she asked. 

“ Charming,” said I. “ But what of our dear M. 
Struboff? And what of my Cousin Elsa ? ” 

“We wouldn’t trouble about them.” She was 
looking at me with a shrewd gaze. “No,” she 
said, “you wouldn’t like it. Shall we try another 
arrangement?” She leaned toward me and laid 
her pretty hand on my arm. “ W etter and I — I 
am not very well placed, but let it pass — Wetter 
and I, Varvilliers and the Princess, you and the 
Countess.” 

I made no sign of appreciating this rather pene- 
trating suggestion. 

“You’re more capricious than fortune, more 

353 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


arbitrary than fate, madame,” said I. “ More- 
over, you have again forgotten to provide for M. 
StrubofF.” 

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. 

“No,” she said meditatively. “ I don’t like that 
after all. It might do for M. de Varvilliers, but 
the Countess is too old, and Wetter there would 
cut my throat. We can’t sacrifice everything to 
give Varvilliers a Princess.” She appeared to re- 
flect for a few seconds. “ I don’t know how to 
arrange it.” 

“ Positively I should be at a loss myself if I 
were called upon to govern the world at short 
notice.” 

“ I think I must let it alone. I don’t see how 
to make it better.” 

“ Thank you. For my own part I have the good 
luck to be in love with my cousin.” 

Coralie lifted her eyes to mine. “ Oh, no ! ” she 
drawled quietly. Then she added with a laugh, 
“ Do you remember when you fought Wetter ? ” 

“Heavens! yes; fools that we were! Not a 
word of it ! Nobody knows.” 

“ Well, at that time you were in love with me.” 

“ Madame, I will have the honour of mentioning 
a much more remarkable thing to you.” 

“ If you please, sire,” she said, taking a bunch of 
grapes and beginning to eat them. 

“You were all but in love with me.” 

“That’s not remarkable. You’re too humble. 
I was ; ah, yes, I was. I was very afraid for you. 
Mon ami , don’t you wish that, instead of being 
King here, you were the Sultan ? ” 

I laughed at this abrupt and somewhat uncere- 
monious question. 


354 


OF GRAZES ON THE KNEE 

“ In fact, Coralie,” said I, “ there are only two 
really satisfactory things to be in this life ; all else 
is miserable compromise.” 

“ Tell them to me.” 

“ A Sultan or a monk. And — pardon me — give 
me the latter.” 

“Well, I once knew a monk very well, and — ” 
began Coralie, in a tone of meditative reminiscence. 
But, rather to my vexation, Wetter spoiled the 
story by asking what we were talking about with 
our heads so close together. 

“We were correcting Fate and re-arranging Des- 
tiny,” I explained. 

“Pooh, pooh!” he cried. “You’d not get rid 
of the tragedy, and only spoil the comedy. Let 
it alone, my children.” 

We let it alone, and began to chatter honest 
nonsense. This had been going on for a few 
minutes, when I became aware suddenly that 
Struboff had ceased playing my wedding-song. 
I looked round ; he sat on the piano-stool, his 
broad back like a tree-trunk bent to a bow, and 
his head settled on his shoulders till a red bulge 
over his collar was all that survived of his neck. 
I rose softly, signing to the others not to inter- 
rupt their conversation, and stole up to him. 
He did not move ; his hands were clasped on 
his stomach. I peered round into his face ; its 
lines were set in a grotesque, heavy melancholy. 
At first I felt very sorry for him ; but as I went 
on looking at him something of Coralie’s feeling 
came over me, and I grew angry. That he was 
doubtless very miserable ceased to plead for him, 
nay, it aggravated his offence. What the deuce 
right had this fellow to make misery repulsive? 

355 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


And it was over my wedding-song that he had 
tortured himself into this ludicrous condition ! 
Yet again it was a pleasant paradox of Nature’s 
to dower this carcass with the sensibility which 
might have given a crowning charm to the 
beauty of Coralie. In him it could attract no 
love, to him it could bring no happiness. Prob- 
ably it caused him to play the piano better ; if 
this justifies Nature, she is welcome to the plea. 
For my part, I felt that it was monstrously bad 
taste in him to come and be miserable here and 
now in Forstadt. But he overshot his mark. 

“ Good God, my dear Struboff ! ” I cried in ex- 
treme annoyance, “ think how little it matters, how 
little any of us care, even, if you like, how little you 
ought to care yourself ! You’ve tumbled down on 
the gravel ; very well ! Stop crying, and don’t, 
for Heaven’s sake, keep showing me the graze on 
your knee. We all, I suppose, have grazes on our 
knees. Get your mother to put you into stock- 
ings, and nobody will see it. I’ve been in stock- 
ings for years.” I burst into a laugh. 

He did not understand what I would be at; 
that, perhaps, was hardly wonderful. 

“ The music has affected me,” he mumbled. 

“ Then come and let some champagne affect 
you,” I advised him irritably. “ What, are you to 
spoil a pleasant evening ? ” 

He looked at me with ponderous, sorrowful re- 
proach. 

“ A pleasant evening ! ” he groaned, as he blew 
his nose. 

“ Yes,” I cried loudly. “ A damnably pleasant 
evening, M. Struboff,” and I caught him by the 
arm, dragged him from his stool, and carried him 
356 


OF GRAZES ON THE KNEE 


off to the table with me. Here I set him down 
between Varvilliers and myself; Wetter and Cor- 
alie, deep in low-voiced conversation, paid no heed 
to him. He began to eat and drink eagerly and 
with appetite. 

“ You perceive, Struboff,” said I persuasively, 
“ that while we have stomachs — and none, my 
friend, can deny that you have one — the world is 
not empty of delight. You and I may have our 
grazes — Varvilliers, have you a graze on the knee 
by chance ? — but consider, I pray you, the case of 
the man who has no dinner.” 

“ It would be very bad to have no dinner,” said 
Struboff, in full-mouthed meditation. 

“ Besides that,” said I lightly — I grew better 
tempered every moment — “what are these fine- 
spun miseries with which we afflict ourselves ? To 
be empty, to be thirsty, to be cold — these are evils. 
Was ever any man, well-fed, well-drunk, and well- 
warmed, really miserable ? Reflect before you an- 
swer, Struboff.” 

He drained a glass of champagne, and, I suppose, 
reflected. 

“ If he had his piano also ” he began. 

“ Great Heavens ! ” I interrupted with a laugh. 

Coralie turned from Wetter and fixed her eyes 
on her husband. He perceived her glance direct- 
ly; his appetite appeared to become enfeebled, and 
he drank his wine with apologetic slowness. She 
went on looking at him with a merciless amuse- 
ment ; his whole manner became expressive of a 
wish to be elsewhere. I saw Varvilliers smothering 
a smile ; he sacrificed much to good manners. I 
myself laughed gently. Suddenly, to my surprise, 
Wetter caught Coralie by the wrist. 

357 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


“You see that man?” he asked, smiling and 
fixing his eyes on her. 

“ Oh, yes, I see my husband,” said she. 

“ Your husband, yes. Shall I tell you some- 
thing? You remember what I’ve been saying to 
you?” 

“Very well; you’ve repeated it often. Are you 
going to repeat it now out loud ? ” 

“ Where’s the use ? Everybody here knows. 
I’ll tell you another thing.” He leaned forward, 
still holding her wrist tightly. “ Look at Stru- 
boff,” he said. “ Look well at him.” 

“ I am giving myself the pleasure of looking at 
M. Struboff,” said Coralie. 

“ Very well. When you die — because you’ll 
grow old, and you’ll grow ugly, and at last, after 
you have become very ugly, you’ll die.” 

Coralie looked rather vexed, a little perturbed 
and protesting. W etter had touched the one 
point on which she had troubled herself to criticise 
the order of the universe. 

“ When, I say, you die,” pursued Wetter, “ when, 
after growing extremely ugly, you die, you will be 
sent to hell because you have not appreciated the 
virtues or repaid the devotion of my good friend 
M. Struboff. And, sire ” (he turned to me), “ when 
one considers that, it appears unreasonable to imag- 
ine that eternity will be in any degree less peculiar 
than this present life of ours.” 

“ That’s all very well,” said Coralie, “ but after 
having grown ugly I don’t think I should mind 
anything else.” 

I clapped my hands. 

“ I think,” said I, “if M. Struboff will pardon 
the supposition, that madame will be allowed to es- 
358 


OF GRAZES ON THE KNEE 


cape perdition. For, see, she will stand up and she 
will say quite calmly, with that adorable smile of 
hers ” 

“ They don’t mind smiles there, sire,” put in Var- 
villiers. 

“ She’ll smile not to please them, but because 
she’s amused,” said I. 4 4 She’ll say with her ador- 
able smile, 4 This and that I have done, this and 
that I have not done. Perhaps I did wrong, I 
have not studied your rules. But you can’t send 
me to hell.’ ” 

They all appeared to be listening with attentive 
ears. 

44 Here’s a good advocate,” said Wetter. 44 Let 
us hear the plea.” 

44 4 You can’t send me to hell because I have not 
pretended. I have been myself, and I didn’t make 
myself. I can’t go to hell with the pretenders.’ ” 

44 But to heaven with the kings?” asked Varvil- 
liers. 

44 With the kings who have not also been pre- 
tenders,” said I. 

44 Nom de Dieu ,” said she, 44 1 believe that I shall 
escape, after all. So you and I will be separated, 
Wetter.” 

44 No, no,” he protested. 44 Unless you’re there 
the place won’t be itself to me.” 

We all laughed — Struboff not in appreciation, 
but with a nervous desire to make himself agree- 
able — and I rose from my seat. It was three 
o’clock in the morning. Struboff yawned mightily 
as he drank a final glass and patted his stomach. I 
think that we were all happier than when we sat 
down. 

44 And after the occasion, whither? ” I asked them. 

359 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


“ I back to France,” answered Varvilliers. 

“We to Munich,” said Coralie, with a shrug. 

“ I the deuce knows where,” laughed Wetter. 

“ I also the deuce knows where. Come, then, to 
our next merry supper ! ” I poured out a glass of 
wine. They all followed my example, and we 
drank. 

“ But we shall have no more,” said Wetter. 

A moment’s silence fell on us all. Then Wetter 
spoke again. He turned to them and indicated me 
with a gesture. 

“ He’s a good fellow, our Augustin.” 

“Yes, a good fellow,” said Varvilliers. 

“ A very good fellow,” muttered Struboff, who 
was more than a little gone in liquor. 

“ A good fellow,” said Coralie. Then she stepped 
up to me, put her hands on my shoulders, and kissed 
me on both cheeks. ‘ 4 A good fellow, our little Au- 
gustin,” said she. 

There was nothing much in this ; casual phrases 
of goodwill, spoken at a moment of conviviality, the 
outcome of genuine but perhaps not very deep feel- 
ing, except for that trifle of the kisses almost an 
ordinary accompaniment or conclusion of an even- 
ing’s entertainment. I was a good fellow ; the 
light praise had been lightly won. Yet even now 
as I write, looking back over the years, I cannot, 
when I accuse myself of mawkishness, be altogether 
convinced by the self-denunciation. F or what it was 
worth, the thing came home to me ; for a moment it 
overleaped the barriers that were round me, the differ- 
ences that made a hedge between me and them ; 
for a moment they had forgotten that I was not 
merely their good comrade. I would not have 
people forget often what I am ; but now and then 
360 


OF GRAZES ON THE KNEE 


it is pleasant to be no more than what I myself am. 
And the two there, Wetter and Varvilhers, were 
the nearest to friends that I have known. One 
went back to his country, the other the deuce 
knew where. I should be alone. 

Alone I made my way back from Wetter’s house, 
alone and on foot. I had a fancy to walk thus 
through the decorated streets ; alone to pause an in- 
stant before the Countess’ door, recollecting many 
things ; alone to tell myself that the stocking must 
be kept over the graze, and that the asking of 
sympathy was the betrayal of my soul’s confidence 
to me ; alone to be weak, alone to be strong ; alone 
to determine to do my work with my own life, 
alone to hope that I must not render too wretched 
the life of another. I had good from that walk of 
mine. For you see, when a man is alone, above 
all, I think, when he is alone in the truce of night, 
one day’s fight done and the new morning’s battle 
not yet joined, he can pause and stand and think. 
He can be still ; then his worst and his best steal 
out, like mice from their holes (the cat of conven- 
tion is asleep), and play their gambols and antics 
before his eyes : he knows them and himself, and 
reaches forth to know the world and his work in it, 
his life and the end of it, the difference, if any, that 
he has made by spending so much pains on living. 

It was four o’clock when a sleepy night-porter 
let me in. My servants had orders never to wait 
beyond two, and in my rooms all was dark and 
quiet. But when I lit a candle from the little lamp 
by the door, I saw somebody lying on the sofa in 
my dressing-room, a woman’s figure stretched in the 
luxury of quiet sleep. Victoria this must be and 
none else. I was glad to see her there and to catch 
361 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


her drowsy smile as her eyes opened under the glare 
of my candle. 

“What in the world are you doing here, my 
dear ? ” said I, setting down the candle and putting 
my hands in my pockets. 

She sat up, whisking her skirts round with one 
hand and rubbing her eyes with the other. 

“ I came to tell you about Krak — Krak’s come. 
But you weren’t here. So I lay down, and I sup- 
pose I went to sleep.” 

“ I suppose you did. And how’s Krak ? ” 

“ Just the same as ever ! ” 

“ Brought a birch with her, in case I should rebel 
at the last ? ” 

Victoria laughed. 

“Oh, well, you’ll see her to-morrow,” she re- 
marked. “ She’s just the same. I’m rather glad, 
you know, that Krak hasn’t been softened by age. 
It would have been commonplace.” 

“ Besides, one doesn’t want to exaggerate the 
power of advancing years. You didn’t come for 
anything except to tell me about Krak ? ” 

Victoria got up, came to me, and kissed me. 

“No, nothing else,” she said. She stopped a 
moment, and then remarked abruptly, “ You’re not 
a bit like William Adolphus.” 

“No? ’’said I, divining in a flash her thought 
and her purpose. “ Still — have you been with Elsa 
to-night ? ” 

“Yes; after Cousin Elizabeth and mother left 
her. You — you’ll be kind to her ? I told her that 
she was very silly, and that I wished I was going 
to marry you.” 

“ Oh, you did ? But she wishes to marry me ? ” 

“ She means to, of course.” 

362 


OF GRAZES ON THE KNEE 


“ Exactly. My dear, you’ve waited a long while 
to tell me something I knew very well.” 

“ I thought perhaps you’d be glad to see me,” she 
said, with a little laugh. “ Where have you been? 
Not to the Countess’ ? ” 

“ Indeed, no. To Wetter ’s.” 

“ Ah ! The singer ? ” 

“ The singer of my marriage- song, Victoria.” 

Victoria looked at me in a rather despairing 
fashion. 

“ Her singing of it,” I added, “ will be the most 
perfect and appropriate thing in the world. You’ll 
be delighted when you hear it. For the rest, my 
dear sister, Hammerfeldt looks down from heaven 
and is well pleased.” 

Victoria sat on the sofa again. I went to the 
window, unfastened the shutters, and pulled up the 
blinds. A single star shone yet in the gray sky. I 
stood looking at it for a few minutes, then lit a cig- 
arette, and turned round. Victoria was on the sofa 
still ; she was crying in a quiet matter-of-fact way, 
not passionately, but with a rather methodical air. 
She glanced at me for a moment, but said nothing. 
Neither did I speak. I leaned against the wall and 
smoked my cigarette. For five minutes, I should 
suppose, this state of things went on. Then I flung 
away the cigarette, Victoria stopped crying, wiped 
her eyes, and got up. 

“I rather wish we’d been born in the gutter,” 
said she. “ Good night, dear.” 

She kissed me, and I bade her good-night. 

“ I must get some sleep, or I shall look frightful. 
I hope William Adolphus won’t be snoring very 
loud, I hear him so plainly through the wall,” she 
said as she started for the door. 

363 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


AS BEDERHOF ARRANGED 

Of the next day I have three visions. 

I see myself with Krak and Princess Heinrich. 
Pride illuminated their faces with a cold radiance, 
and their utterances were conceived in the spirit of 
a Nunc Dimittis . They congratulated the world 
on its Ruler, the kingdom on its King, themselves 
on my account, me on theirs. To Krak I was her 
achievement; to my mother the vindication of the 
support she had given to Krak, and the refutation 
of my own grumblings and rebellion. How could 
I not be reminded of my coronation day ? How 
not smile when the Princess, after observing regret- 
fully that the Baroness would not be able to 
educate my children, bade me inculcate her prin- 
ciples in the mind of their tutor or governess. She 
was afraid, she said, that dear Elsa might be a little 
lacking in firmness, a little prone to that indulgence 
which is no true kindness in the end. “ The very 
reverse of it, madame, ” added Krak. 

“It’s quite time enough for them to begin to do 
as they like when they grow up,” said the Princess 
Heinrich. 

“By then, though,” said Krak, “they will have 
learned, I hope, to do what they ought.” 

“ I hope so with all my heart, Baroness,” said I. 

“ Victoria is absurdly weak with her child,” Prin- 
cess Heinrich complained. 

Krak smiled significantly. She had never ex- 
364 


AS BEDERHOF ARRANGED 


pected much of Victoria ; the repression of exu- 
berant wickedness had been the bounds of her hope. 

Krak left us. There must have been some no- 
ticeable expression on my face as I watched her 
go, for my mother said with a smile : 

“ I know you think she was severe. I used to 
think so too, now and then. But see how well 
you’ve turned out, Augustin ! ” 

“ Madame,” said I, “ my present excellence and 
my impending happiness reconcile me to every- 
thing.” 

“You had a very happy childhood, ” my mother 
observed. I bowed. “ And now you are going to 
marry the girl I should choose for you above all 
others.” Again I bowed. “ And public affairs are 
quiet and satisfactory.” A third time I bowed. 
“ Kiss me, Augustin,” said my mother. 

This summary of my highly successful life and 
reign was delivered in Princess Heinrich’s most 
conclusive manner. I had no thought of disputing 
it ; I was almost surprised that the facts themselves 
did not suffer an immediate transformation to 
match the views she expressed. What matter that 
things were not so ? They were to be deemed so 
and called so, so held and so proclaimed. My 
mother’s courage touched my heart, and I kissed 
her with much affection. It is no inconsiderable 
achievement to be consistently superior to reality. 
I who fought desperate, doubtful battles, crippled 
by a secret, traitorous love of the enemy, could not 
but pay homage to Princess Heinrich’s victorious 
front. 

Next I see myself with Elsa, alone for a little 
while with Elsa exultant in her pomp, observed of 
all, the envy of all, the centre of the spectacle, 

24 365 


THE KING’S MIRROR 


frocked and jewelled beyond heart’s desire, narco- 
tised by fuss and finery, laughing and trembling. I 
had found her alone with difficulty, for she kept 
some woman by her almost all the day. She did 
not desire to be alone with me. That was to come 
to-morrow at Artenberg. Now was her moment, 
and she strove to think it eternal. It was not in 
her to face and conquer the great enemy after 
Princess Heinrich’s heroic fashion ; she could only 
turn and fly, hiding from herself how soon she 
must be overtaken. She chattered to me with 
nervous fluency, making haste always to choose 
the topic, leaving no gap for the entrance of what 
she feared. I saw in her eyes the apprehension 
that filled her. Once it had bred in me the most 
odious humiliation, an intense longing to go from 
her, a passionate loathing for the necessity of forcing 
myself on her. I was chastened now ; I should not 
be in so bad a case as StrubofF ; there would no ques- 
tion of a fresh slice of bread. But I tried to harden 
myself against her, declaring that, desiring the 
prize, she must pay the price, and deserved no 
pity on the score of a bargain that she herself had 
ratified. Alas, poor dear, she knew neither how 
small the prize was nor how great the price, and 
her eyes prayed me not to turn her fears to cer- 
tainty. She would know soon enough. 

Last comes the vision of the theatre, of the gala 
performance, where Elsa and I sat side by side, 
ringed about with great folk, enveloped in splen- 
dour, making a spectacle for all the city, a sight 
that men now remember and recall. There through 
the piece we sat, and my mind was at work. It 
seemed to me that all my life was pictured there ; 
I had but to look this way or that, and dead things 
rose from the grave and were for me alive again. 

366 


AS BEDERHOF ARRANGED 

There was Krak’s hard face, there my mother’s un- 
conquerable smile ; a glance at them brought back 
childhood with its rigours, its pleasures snatched 
in fearfulness, its strange ignorance and stranger 
passing gleams of insight. Victoria’s hand, ringed, 
and gloved, and braceleted, held her fan ; I remem- 
bered the little girl’s bare, red, rapped knuckles. 
Away in a box to the right, close by the stage, 
was the Countess with her husband ; my eyes 
turned often toward her and always found hers on 
mine. Again as a child I ran to her, asking to be 
loved ; again as a boy I loved her and wrung from 
her reluctant love; again in the first vigour and 
unsparing pride of my manhood I sacrificed her 
heart and my delight. Below her, standing near 
the orchestra, was Wetter; through my glass I 
could see the smile that never left his face as he 
scanned the bedizened row in which I sat. There 
with him, looking on, jesting, scoffing at the pa- 
rade, there was Nature’s place for me, not here 
playing chief part in the comedy. What talks and 
what nights had we had together ; how together 
had we fallen from heaven and ruefully prayed for 
that trick of falling soft! See, he smiles more 
broadly ! What is it ? Struboff has stolen in and 
dropped heavily into a seat. Wetter waved a hand 
to him and laughed. Laugh, laugh, Wetter ! It 
is your only gospel and therefore must be pardoned 
its inevitable defects. Laugh even at Poor Stru- 
boff whose stomach is so gross, whose feelings so 
fine, who may not give his wife a piece of bread, 
and would ask no greater joy than to kiss her feet. 
And laugh at Varvilliers too, who, although he sits 
where he has a good view of us, never turns his 
eyes toward the lady by my side, but is most cour- 
teously unobservant of her alone among all the 
367 


THE KINGS MIRROR 


throng. Did she look at him ? Yes, for he will 
not look toward her. Why, we are all here, all ex- 
cept Hammerfeldt, who looks down from heaven, 
and Coralie who is coming presently to sing us the 
wedding-song. Even Victoria’s Baron is here, and 
Victoria’s sobs of terror are in my ears again. 
Bederhof and his fellows are behind me. The real 
and the unreal, the dummies and the men, they 
are all here, each in his place in the tableau. 
When Coralie comes, we shall be complete. 

The opera ended and the curtain fell. There was 
a buzz of talk. 

“ Our anthem comes now, Elsa,” said I. 

“ Yes,” she whispered, crushing the bizarre satin 
rag of a programme that they had given her. “ I 
have never heard Madame Mansoni,” she added. I 
glanced at her ; there was a blush on her cheek. She 
had heard of Madame Mansoni, although she had 
not heard her sing. 

I put up my glass again and looked at Wetter. 
He nodded slightly but unmistakably, then flung 
his head back and laughed again. Now we waited 
only for Coralie. With her coming we should be 
complete. 

The music began. By arrangement or impulse, 
I knew not which, everybody rose to their feet. 
Only Elsa and I sat still. The curtain rose and 
Coralie was revealed in her rare beauty and her 
matchless calm. A moment later the great full 
feelingless voice filled the theatre ; she had had no 
doubt that she could fill the theatre. I saw Struboff 
leaning back in his chair, his shoulders eloquent of 
despair ; I saw Wetter with straining eyes and curl- 
ing lips, Varvilliers smiling in mischievous remem- 
brance of our rehearsal. By my side Elsa was 
breathing quick and fast. I turned to her; her 
368 


AS BEDERHOF ARRANGED 

eyes were sparkling in triumph and excitement. It 
was a grand moment. She felt my glance ; her 
cheek reddened, her eyes dropped, her lip quivered ; 
the swiftest covert glance flew toward where Var- 
villiers was. I turned away with a sort of sickness 
on me. 

Coralie’s voice rose and fell, chanting out her 
words. The deadness of her singing seemed subtle 
mockery, as though she would not degrade true 
passion to the service of this sham, as though the 
words were enough for such a marriage, and the 
spirit scorned to sanction it. Elsa’s eyes were on 
her now, and the Countess leaned forward, gazing 
at her. The last verse came, and Coralie, with a 
low bow and a smile, sang it direct to me — to me 
across all the theatre, so plainly that now all heads 
were turned from her, the people facing round and 
looking all at me and at Elsa by my side. Every 
eye was on us. The song ended. A storm of 
cheers burst out. A short gasp or sob came from 
Elsa. The cheers swelled and swelled, handker- 
chiefs waved in the air. I rose to my feet, gave 
Elsa my hand, and helped her to rise. Then to- 
gether we took a step forward and bowed to all. 
Silence fell. Coralie’s voice rose again, repeating 
the last verse. Now all the chorus joined in. We 
stood till the song ended again, and through the 
tempest of cheers. There had been no such en- 
thusiasm in Forstadt within the memory of man. 
The heart of the people went forth to us ; it was a 
triumph, a triumph, a triumph ! 

The next day we were married, and in the even- 
ing my wife and I set out together for Artenberg. 
This was what Bederhof had arranged. 

THE END. 


369 








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